San Kuo/Volume 2/Chapter 66

The scheme which Chang Chao had in mind he laid before his master thus: “The one man upon whom Liu Pei relies most is Chuko Liang. Now his brother is in your service and in your power. All you have to do is to seize his family and send him west to see his brother and make him persuade Liu Pei to return Chingchou. If he refuse, the family will suffer, and Liang will not be able to resist the claims of brotherhood.”

“But Chuko Chin is a loyal and true gentleman. I could not lay hands upon his family,” said Sun Ch‘üan.

“Explain the ruse to him; that will set his mind at rest,” said Chang.

Sun Ch'üan consented and issued the command to confine the family of his retainer in the palace but not really imprison them. Then he wrote a letter for Chuko Chin to take with him on his mission. Before many days Chin reached Ch'êngtu and sent to inform Yüan-tê of his arrival. He at once sought the advice of his able counseller.

“Why think you your brother has come?”

“He has come to force the return of Chingchou.”

“How shall I answer him?”

“You must do so and so,” said K‘ung-ming.

The plan of action being prepared, K‘ung-ming went out of the city to welcome his brother, but instead of taking him to his own residence he took him to the guest-house. When the greetings were over, the visitor suddenly lifted up his voice and wept.

“If you have any trouble, my brother, tell; why do you weep thus?” asked K‘ung-ming.

“Alas! my family are lost,” cried he.

“I suppose it is in the matter of the return of Chingchou? If your family have been seized on my account, how can I bear it calmly? But do not be anxious, my brother. I shall certainly find some way out of the difficulty.”

This reply pleased Chuko Chin, and the two brothers went to visit Yüan-tê. The letter was presented, but when Yüan-tê had read it he said, angrily, “He is related to me by marriage and he has profited by my absence from Chingchou to steal away his sister. That is a sort of kindliness I find it hard to bear. When I am just going to lead my army to take vengeance is it likely he will get Chingchou out of me?”

​At this point K‘ung-ming prostrated himself weeping at his lord’s feet and said, “The Marquis of Wu has seized my brother’s family, and he will put them all to death if the land be not given up. Can I remain alive if such a fate befall them? I pray my lord for my sake to give back the district and prevent any breach between my brother and me.”

But Yüan-tê refused. He seemed obdurate, but K‘ung-ming persisted in his entreaty. Finally Yüan-tê reluctantly consented.

“Since things are so, and the Commander-in-chief pleads for it, I will return half,” said he. “I will give up Changsha, Lingling and Kueiyang.”

“Then, as you have consented, prepare letters ordering Kuan Yü to yield these three districts,” said Chin.

Yüan-tê said, “When you see my brother you must use most gracious words to him, for his nature is as a fierce fire, and I fear what he may do. So be very careful.”

Chuko Chin, having got the letter, took his leave and went straightway to Chingchou. He asked for an interview, and was received in the grand reception hall. When both were seated in their respective places, the emissary produced his letter, saying, “The Imperial Uncle has promised to return three districts to my master, and I hope, General, you will hand them over at once and let me return.”

Kuan Yü's countenance changed, and he said, “The oath sworn in the Peach Garden bound me and my brother to support the Dynasty of Han. Chingchou is a portion of their domain, and how can any part be given to another? When a leader is in the field he receives no orders, not even those of his prince. Although you have brought letters from my brother, yet will I not yield the territory.”

“But the Marquis of Wu has laid hands upon my family, and they will be slain if the land be not given up. I crave your pity, O General.”

“This is but a ruse on his part, but it does not deceive me.”

“Why are you so pitiless?”

Kuan Yü drew his sword, saying, “Let us have no more. This sword is pitiless.”

“It will put the Commander-in-chief to shame,” said Kuan P‘ing. “I pray you not to be angry, my father.”

“Were it not for my respect for the Commander-in-chief, you would never go back to Wu,” said Kuan Yü.

Chuko Chin, overwhelmed with shame, took his leave, sought his ship and hastily returned to see his brother. But K‘ungming had gone away upon a journey. However, he saw Yüantê and related what had happened, and said that Kuan Yü was going to slay him.

“My brother is hasty,” said Yüan-tê. “It is difficult to argue with him. But return home for the present, and when I have ​finished my conquest I will transfer Kuan Yü to another post, and then I may be able to return Chingchou.”

Chuko Chin had no choice but to accept this reply and carry the unsatisfactory news to his master, who was greatly annoyed and said, “This running to and fro was nothing more than one of your brother’s tricks.”

The unhappy messenger denied this and told how his brother had interceded with tears and obtained the promise to return three districts. It was the obstinacy of Kuan Yü that spoiled all.”

“Since Yüan-tê said he would return three districts, we may send officials to take over their administration. Think you that might be done?” said Sun.

“What you say, my lord, seems most proper.”

The family of Chuko Chin were restored to liberty and officers were sent to take charge of the three districts that had been named. But they quickly returned, saying that Kuan Yü would have none of them, but had chased them away at once with threats to kill them if they did not hasten.

Sun Ch'üan then summoned Lu Su and laid the blame on him.

“You are Yüan-tê's guarantor in this matter; how can you sit quietly looking on while he fails to perform his contract?” said Sun.

“I have thought out a plan and was just going to impart it to you,” said Lu Su.

“And what is your plan?”

Lu Su said, “There is a camp at Luk‘ou; invite Kuan Yü to a banquet there and try to persuade him. If he still remain obstinate, have some assassins ready to slay him. Should he refuse the banquet, then we must try conclusions with an army.”

“This suits me,” said Sun, “and it shall be done.”

“It should not be done,” interrupted K‘an Tsê. “The man is too bold and not at all like common men. The plan will fail and result in more harm.”

“Then when may I expect to get my Chingchou?” asked Sun, angrily.

He ordered Lu Su to carry out his plan, and Su went to Luk‘ou forthwith and settled the preliminaries of the banquet. The place selected was by the river. Then he wrote a letter and found a persuasive person to deliver it. The messenger set out and sailed across the river to the post, where he was received by Kuan P‘ing, who conducted him to his father.

“As Lu Su invites me, I will come to-morrow; you may return,” was Kuan Yü's reply.

After the messenger had gone, Kuan P‘ing said to his father, “Why did you promise to go? I think Lu Su means you no good.”

​“Do you think I do not know? This has all come out of my refusal to yield those three districts. They are going to try coercion at this banquet. If I refuse they will think I fear them. I will go to-morrow in a small ship with just my personal guard of half a score, and we shall see whether Lu Su will dare to come near me.”

“But, father, why risk your priceless self in the very den of a tiger? I think you are not giving due importance to my uncle’s charge.”

“I have been in the midst of many and imminent dangers all alone and have been careless of them; think you that I shall begin to show fear of a few such rats as those?”

Nor was the son alone in remonstrance. Ma Liang also warned his chief.

“Although Lu Su has a great repute, yet now he is pushed hard. He certainly is badly disposed toward you, and you must be careful, General.”

Kuan Yü replied, “I have given my word, and shall I withdraw from it? In the days of the warring states Lin Hsiangju of the State of Chao had not the force even to bind a chicken, yet in the assembly at Shêngch‘ih he regarded not the Prince of Ts‘in, but did his duty without fear of consequences. Have I not learned to face any number of foes? I cannot break my promise.”

“If you must go,” said Ma Liang, “at least go prepared.”

“Tell my son to choose out half a score of fast ships and a half company of good marines and be in readiness to help me at need. And when he sees a red flag waved he can come over to my aid.”

The order was given and the little squadron was got ready.

The messenger returned to his master and told him that Kuan Yü had boldly accepted the invitation, and Lu Su and Lü Mêng took counsel together.

“What do you think of this?” asked Lu Su.

“If he comes with a force, Kan Ning and I will be in readiness for him by the river-side. And you will hear our bomb as a signal that we are attacking. If he has no force with him the assassins can set on during the banquet.”

Next day a look-out was kept on the bank, and early in the day a single ship came along. It was manned by very few men, and a simple red flag flew out on the breeze showing but one character, the name of the great warrior. Presently they could see him, a handsome figure in a green robe and black turban. Beside him stood Chou Ts‘ang, his sword-bearer, and near him were eight or nine fine-looking men each with a sword at his side.

He landed and was received by the trembling Lu Su, who conducted him to the hall, bowed his greetings and led him to ​the banquet chamber. When he drank to his host Lu Su dared not raise his eyes, but Kuan Yü was perfectly composed.

When they had become mellow with wine, Lu Su said, “I have a word to say to you, Sir, if haply I may have your attention. You know that your illustrious brother, the Imperial Uncle, made me surety with my master that Chingchou would be returned after Ssuch‘uan had been taken. Well, now that country is in his possession, but Chingchou is still unreturned. Is not this a breach of good faith?”

“This is a government affair,” said Kuan Yü. “Such matters should not be introduced at a banquet.”

“My master only has petty possessions in the east, and he allowed the temporary loan of Chingchou out of consideration for the need in which you then were. But now you have Ichou, and Chingchou should be given up. The Imperial Uncle has even yielded three districts, but you, Sir, seem unwilling to let them go. This seems hard to explain on reasonable grounds.”

Kuan Yü replied, “I braved the arrows and the stones in the battle at Wuling and with all my strength drove back the enemy: did I get a single foot of land for all my efforts? Now you come to force this place out of me.”

“No; I do not,” said Lu Su. “But at the time that you and your brother suffered defeat at Ch‘angpan, when you were helpless and in the greatest straits, fugitives you knew not whither, then my master was moved with pity and did not grudge the land. So he gave your brother a foothold whence he might be able to accomplish other ends. But your brother has presumed upon long-suffering. He has attained his end, the country of his desire, and still he occupies Chingchou. Such greed and such treachery will make the whole world laugh him to shame, as you know quite well.”

“All that is no affair of mine; it is my brother’s. I cannot yield the land.”

“I know that by the oath in the Peach Garden you three were to live or die together. But your brother is now a ruler; how are you going to get out of that?”

Kuan Yü was at a loss to reply. However, Chou Ts‘ang burst into the conversation, roaring out, “Only the virtuous get hold of territory, does that mean only you people of East Wu?”

Kuan Yü's anger now showed itself. His face changed; he rose in his place, took his sword from his sword-bearer and said fiercely, “How dare you talk like this at a discussion of state matters? Go! And go quickly.”

Chou understood. He left the hall, made his way to the river and waved the red call-flag. The ships darted across like arrows and were ready for action.

The mighty sword in his right hand, Kuan Yü laid hold of his false host with his left and, simulating intoxication, said, “You have kindly invited me to-day, Sir, but do not say any​thing about Chingchou, for I am so drunk that I may forget our old friendship. Some other day I hope to invite you to Chingchou, and then we will talk about that matter.”

Poor Lu Su’s soul almost left his body with fright as he was led down to the river bank in the grip of his guest. The two friends he had placed in ambush dared not face the terrible Kuan Yü and so made no move lest they should bring about the evil they feared. When they got to the bank, Kuan Yü released his host, got on board and then said farewell. Lu Su stood stupidly staring at the ship while a fair breeze bore it quickly out of sight.

This episode has been commemorated in verse:—

Kuan Yü took his homeward way, while Lu Su and his two confederates talked over what had occurred.

“What can be done now?” said Lu Su.

“The only thing is to tell our master and let him send an army,” replied Lü Mêng.

Lu Su sent a messenger to Sun Ch'üan, who, in his wrath, was for sending every available soldier at once against Chingchou. But at this crisis there came news that Ts‘ao Ts‘ao was raising a huge army with the intention of attacking the south. So hasty orders were sent to Lu to make no move, but to send all the men he could toward the north to repel Ts‘ao Ts‘ao.

However, Ts‘ao Ts‘ao did not march south. One of his officers, Chuan Kan, sent in a memorial against the scheme.

“I, Chuan Kan, understand that inspiring fear is the chief consideration in war, as inculcating virtue is in government. These two combined in one man fit him to be a prince. Formerly, in the days of disturbance, you, illustrious Sir, attacked the rebels and restored tranquillity almost everywhere, the only districts unsubdued and not under your control being Wu and Shu. The former of these is protected by the great river, the latter secured by its mountains, and both difficult to conquer by force of arms. My humble opinion is that it is more fitting to increase the authority of civil government, to lay aside arms and rest weapons, to cease from war and train your soldiers until the times shall be favourable. If your mighty legions be now sent to camp on the river bank and the rebels should take refuge behind their natural defences, your men will be unable to prove their prowess, and should unforeseen combinations appear their force will not be available. In such a case your high prestige would be impaired. I trust, illustrious Sir, you will deign to examine this.”

​After reading this, Ts‘ao Ts‘ao ceased to think of an expedition against the south. Instead, he established schools and set himself to attract men of ability.

About the same time four of his officers conceived the idea of getting for Ts‘ao Ts‘ao the honour of “Prince of Wei.” But another, Hsün Yu, opposed this course, saying, “The minister’s rank is already that of “Duke,” and he has received the additional honour of the Nine Gifts, so that his position is extremely high. If he advances to the rank of prince it will be inconsistent with reasonableness.”

But Ts‘ao Ts‘ao was annoyed at this opposition and said, “Does the man wish to emulate Hsün Yü?”

When Hsün Yü heard of his anger he was grieved and fell ill, so that in a few days he died. He was fifty-eight years of age. Ts‘ao Ts‘ao had his remains interred honourably, and he stayed his ambition for princely rank.

But there came a day when he entered the palace wearing his sword and made his way to the apartment where the Emperor and Empress were seated. The Empress rose in a fright and the Emperor gazed at his minister in terror.

“Sun Ch'üan and Liu Pei have each seized a portion of the empire and no longer respect the court; what is to be done?”

To this abrupt speech the Emperor replied, “The matter lies within your province.”

Ts‘ao Ts‘ao answered, angrily, “If such a remark be known outside they will say I treat my prince without respect.”

“If you will help me I shall be most happy;” said His Majesty, “if not, then I trust to your kindness to let me alone.”

At this Ts‘ao Ts‘ao glared at the Emperor and went out full of resentment.

The courtiers said, “It is said that Duke Wei desires to become a prince and soon he will aspire to the Throne.”

Both the Emperor and his consort wept. Presently Her Majesty said, “My father, Fu Wan, has long nourished a desire to slay this man. Now I will indite a secret letter to my father to accomplish his end.”

“Remember the former attempt with Tung Ch'êng. The plot was discovered and great misery ensued. I fear that this will leak out also and both of us will be undone.”

Said the Empress, “We pass our days in constant discomfort, like sitting on a rug full of needles. If life is to be like this one were better dead. But I know one loyal man among the attendants to whom I may entrust the letter. That one is Mu Shun, and he will deliver it.”

Thereupon she summoned Mu Shun within, and having sent away all others, they told their distress to the faithful one.

“That fellow Ts‘ao desires the dignity of prince and soon he will aspire to the throne itself. I, the Emperor, wish to order ​the father of my consort to make away with the man, but the difficulty is that all the courtiers are his creatures and there is none whom I can trust save yourself. I desire you to convey this secret letter to Fu Wan. I know your loyalty and am sure you will prove no betrayer.”

“I am the recipient of much graciousness for which not even death would prove my gratitude. Thy servant prays that he may be allowed to undertake this.”

The letter was given to Mu Shun, who hid it in his hair, made his way out of the precincts and handed it to its owner. Fu Wan recognised the handwriting of his daughter and read it. Turning to the messenger he said, “You know the fellow’s creatures are many, and one must act with extreme caution against him. Unless we have the aid of Sun Ch'üan and Liu Pei’s armies, Ts‘ao Ts‘ao will certainly attain his ends. In this matter we must gain the support of every loyal and faithful one in the court so that within and without there may be a simultaneous attack.”

“Then, O father of the Empress, write a letter in reply asking for a secret edict, so that we may send to Wu and Shu to join in the attack.”

So Fu Wan composed a reply, which he gave to Mu Shun to take into the palace. This time also the letter was concealed in his hair and was safely taken in.

But there was a traitor, and Ts‘ao heard of the letters. So he waited at the palace gate for Mu Shun to come out.

“Where are you going?” asked Ts‘ao Ts‘ao, when Mu appeared.

“The Empress is indisposed and has bidden me call a physician.”

“Where is the summons for the physician?”

“There is no summons.”

Ts‘ao Ts‘ao bade his men search Mu Shun, but they did not find the letter.

So he was allowed to go. But just then a gust of wind blew off his hat, and it struck Ts‘ao that that had not been examined. So Mu Shun was called back. Nothing was found in the hat, but when it was given back Mu Shun put it on with both hands. There was something suspicious about the movement and Ts‘ao bade the searchers examine his hair.

Therein the letter was found. Ts‘ao Ts‘ao read it; it said that Sun and Liu were to be induced to help. The unhappy Mu was taken away into a secret place and interrogated, but he would confess nothing.

That night three companies of soldiers surrounded the dwelling of Fu Wan, who was arrested with all his family. Searching the house they found the first letter in the handwriting of the Empress. Fu Wan and his family were then consigned to a gaol.

​At dawn, a party of the Foresters, under Ch‘i Lü, bearing ensigns of authority, entered the palace with orders to take away the seal of the Empress. On the way they met the Emperor, who asked the reason for a company of armed men being in the palace.

“I have orders from Duke Wei to get the Empress’s seal,” said Ch‘i Lü.

As soon as the Empress knew of this she recognised her danger and hid herself in the hollow walls of her private apartments behind one of the ceremonial halls. She had not been long in hiding when one Hua Hsin, a president of a Board, with a company of men appeared and asked where she was. The palace people said they did not know. The red doors of the hall were burst open and Hua looked in, but he saw no lady there. It occurred to him where she might be hidden, and he ordered his men to break open the wall. With his own hands he laid hold of the lady’s hair and dragged her forth.

“Spare my life!” pleaded she.

“You may say what you have to say to the Duke,” cried he surlily.

She pulled down her hair and kicked off her shoes, but a couple of soldiers pushed her along in front of them outside.

It may be said here that this Hua had some reputation for learning. He and two others, Ping Yüan and Kuan Ning, all good friends, made a little coterie which was known as “The Dragon.” Hua Hsin was the “head"; his two friends the “belly” and the “tail” respectively. One day Hua and Kuan were hoeing in their garden, when they turned up an ingot of silver. Kuan went on with his labours without giving a second glance at the find, but Hua picked it up. After regarding it a moment he threw it away again.

Another day Kuan and Hua were reading together when there arose a great shouting outside the window of the study. A lady from the palace was passing. Kuan took no notice, but kept his eyes on his book; Hua rose and went to the window. For this, Kuan Ning despised his companion and the two parted for good. Sometime after, Kuan Ning fled into Liaotung, where he led the life of hermit. He wore a white cap and lived in the upper part of a house, never touching the ground with his feet. He would have nothing to do with Ts‘ao Ts‘ao and would not enter his service.

But the unstable and inconstant Hua Hsin led a totally different life. For a time he was with Sun Ch'üan; then he went over to Ts‘ao Ts‘ao and served him. And here he is found actually laying hands upon the Empress.

His conduct in this particular is the subject of a poem:—

A poet also wrote concerning Kuan Ning:—

As Hua Hsin hurried the unhappy woman out of the hall the Emperor saw her. He went over and clasped her to his bosom, weeping. Hua Hsin tried to force her onward, saying he had orders from Duke Wei.

“My doom is sealed,” wept the Empress.

“And I know not when my turn will come,” sighed the Emperor.

The soldiers hustled the Empress onward, leaving His Majesty beating his breast in despair.

“Can it be that such things happen in the world?” cried the Emperor to Ch‘i Lü, who stood by.

And he swooned. Ch‘i Lü made the courtiers pick him up, and they bore him into the palace.

Meanwhile, the unhappy Empress had been taken before Ts‘ao Ts‘ao.

“I have dealt well with you and yours,” said he angrily, “and you requited me by plotting my murder. It is the death of one of us, I see.”

He ordered the executioners to beat her till she died. After this, he went into the palace, seized her two sons and had them poisoned. In the evening of the same day the whole household of Mu Shun were put to death publicly. Such terrible deeds spread terror everywhere. They happened in the late autumn of the year 211 a.d.

The Emperor grieved bitterly over the loss of his consort, and in his despair refused all food. Ts‘ao Ts‘ao did not wish him to die of starvation and loneliness, so he proposed his own daughter as consort.

“Be not sad,” said he, “thy servant is no rebel. My daughter is already in your palace as a secondary lady. She is wise and dutiful, fit to be your consort and occupy the first rank.”

The Emperor Hsien dared not refuse, and therefore at the new year, in the time of the festivities, her name was inscribed on the dynastic rolls as Empress. And no one of the courtiers dared protest.

​Wherefore Ts‘ao Ts‘ao became even more powerful pleased him not to have rivals in the land, so he again thought of subduing Liu Pei and Sun Ch'üan. Chia Hsü proposed that Hsiahou Tun and Ts‘ao Jên, who had served on the frontiers, should be called to give their advice. They were sent for, and Ts‘ao Jên was the first to arrive. As a relative he felt he had the right to see the great minister without delay and went direct to the palace.

But it happened that Ts‘ao Ts‘ao had been drinking heavily, and his faithful henchman, Hsü Ch‘u, would not admit the new arrival.

“I am of the family,” said Ts‘ao Jên, angry at the hindrance. “Dare you stop me?”

“General, you may be a relative, but here you are but an officer from the frontier. I am of little account, but a duty lies on me here in the palace. Our lord is overcome with wine and asleep, and I dare not allow you to enter.”

The refusal came to Ts‘ao Ts‘ao’s knowledge, and he commended the loyalty of his servant.

Soon after, Hsiahou Tun came and was called to the council, and gave his opinion that the two rivals should be left until Chang Lu of Hanchung had been subdued. The army that could overcome him would be in condition to attack Shu, and it would be conquered without difficulty. The advice coincided with Ts‘ao Ts‘ao’s own idea, and so he prepared an expedition for the west.

What happened will be told in later chapters.