San Kuo/Volume 2/Chapter 77

Sun Ch'üan having asked Lü Mêng for a plan, Lü replied, “This man Kuan has very few men left, and he will not venture along the high road. North of Maich'êng is a risky path, and he will try to escape along that. Therefore you must lay an ambush for him twenty li away from the city, but do not stop him. Let him go by, and then harass his rear. Thus he will be forced into Linchü. Set another small ambush near there, and you will capture your enemy. For the present, attack the city vigorously on all sides but one, leaving the north gate for escape.”

Before carrying out this plan, Sun bade Lü Fan consult the auspices. He did so, announcing that the enemy would flee toward the northwest, but would be caught that night before midnight.

So Chu Jan was sent in command of the first ambush, five companies, and P‘an Chang with a cohort was the second. The men were all veterans.

When Kuan Yü mustered his fighting men in the city, he had but three hundred, all told. The food was done. That night many men of Wu came to the city walls and called to their friends by name, and many of these slipped over the wall and deserted, reducing the small force still further. No rescue force appeared, and Kuan was at the end of his resources. Again he bewailed to Wang Fu the obstinacy that had led him to neglect his wise warning.

“I think even if Tzŭ-ya (Lü Shang) could come to life again he would be helpless in this case,” replied Wang Fu, sadly.

Said Chao Lei, “Liu Fêng and Mêng Ta have surely decided not to send help from Shangyung. Let us abandon this miserable place and try to regain Hsich‘uan. We may then tempt our fortune once more.”

“I agree with you that that is the best plan,” said Kuan Yü.

Then he ascended the walls and surveyed the country. Noting that the weakest side was the north, he called in some of the inhabitants and enquired the nature of the country on that side.

They replied, “There are only paths there, but by them one may get into Hsich‘uan.”

​“We will go that way to-night,” said Kuan.

Wang Fu opposed it, pointing out that they would surely fall into an ambush. The main road would be safer.

“There may be an ambush, but do I fear that?” said the old warrior.

Orders were given to be ready to march.

“At least be very cautious,” said Wang Fu. “I will defend this city to the very last; I only need a few men. Never will we surrender. Only I hope, most noble Marquis, that you will send me speedy help.”

The two parted in tears; Wang Fu and Chou Ts‘ang remaining to guard Maich'êng. Kuan Yü, Kuan P‘ing and Chao Lei marched with their weak force out of the north gate. Kuan Yü, his great sword ready to hand, went first. About the time of watch-setting, a score of li lay between them and the city. There they saw a deep cleft in the hills wherefrom rolled the sound of beaten drums. And men were shouting.

Soon appeared a large force with Chu Jan at their head. He came dashing forward, and summoned the small party to surrender if they would save their lives. But Kuan Yü whipped his steed to a gallop and bore down on the leader with anger in his eyes. Then Chu Jan ran away. Kuan Yü followed him till there came the loud boom of a large drum, and out sprang men from all sides. Kuan Yü dared not engage such a number, and fled in the direction of Linchü. Chu Jan came up behind and attacked the flying soldiers, so that Kuan’s following gradually became smaller and smaller.

Still he struggled on. A few li farther the drums rolled again, and torches lit up all round. This was P‘an Chang’s ambush, and he appeared flourishing his sword. Kuan Yü whirled his blade and went to meet him, but P‘an ran away after a couple of bouts. However, Kuan Yü saw they were too many for him, and sought refuge among the mountains. His son followed, and when he got within speaking distance he gave him the mournful tidings that Chao Lei had fallen. Kuan Yü was very sad, and bade his son try to protect the rear while he should force his way forward.

With a half score men he reached Chüehshih, a place with mountains on both sides. At their foot was a thick mass of reeds and dried grass. The trees grew very close. It was then the fifth watch. Presently the small party stumbled into another ambush, and the men thrust forth hooks and threw ropes. Entangled in these, Kuan Yü's horse fell, and Kuan Yü reeled out of the saddle. In a moment he was a prisoner. Kuan P‘ing dashed to his rescue, but before he could do anything he also was surrounded and held. Father and son were both captives.

With great joy Sun Ch'üan heard of the success of his plans. He assembled all his officers in his tent to await the arrival of ​the prisoners. Before long, Ma Chung, who had actually caught Kuan Yü, came hustling his prisoner before him.

“I have long had a friendly feeling for you,” said Sun Ch'üan to Kuan Yü, “on account of your great virtues. Now I would have made a covenant and alliance with you, if you would. You and your son have long held yourselves to be invincible, but you see you are my prisoners to-day. Yet I hope to win you over to my side.”

But Kuan Yü only answered roughly, “You green-eyed boy! You red-bearded rat! I made a covenant in the Peach Garden with my brothers to uphold the Hans. Think you that I will stand side by side with a rebel such as you are? I am a victim of your vile schemes, but I can only die once. And there is no need of many words.”

“He is a real hero, and I love him,” said Sun Ch'üan to those standing near. “I will treat him well and endeavour to win him over. Do you think it well?”

Said one of them, “When Ts‘ao Ts‘ao had hold of this man he treated him lavishly well. He created him a marquis; he feasted him day after day at public and private banquets; he gave him gold and presented him with silver; all this, hoping to retain him at his side. But he failed. The man broke through his gates, his gates, slew his slew his captains and went away. To-day Ts‘ao Ts‘ao fears him, and almost moved the capital for dread of him. Now he is in your power destroy him, or you will rue the day. Evil will come if you spare him.”

Sun Ch'üan reflected for some time. ”

“You are right,” said he presently, and gave the order for execution.

So father and son met their fate together in the twenty-fourth year (2I9 A.D.) in the tenth month. Kuan Kung was fifty-eight.

A poem says:—

And another:—

​So the great warrior ended his life. His famous steed, also captured with his master, was sent to Sun Ch'üan, who gave him as a reward to his captor, Ma Chung. But “Red Hare” survived his master only a short time; he refused to feed, and soon died.

Forebodings of misfortune came to Wang Fu within the city of Mai. His bones felt cold; his flesh crept; and he said to his colleague, “I have had a terrible dream in which I saw our lord all dripping with gore. I would question him, but I was overcome with dread. May it augur no evil tidings!”

Just then the men of Wu came up to the city wall and displayed the gory heads of the two, father and son. Wang Fu and Chou Ts‘ang went up on the wall to see if the dread tokens were real. There was no doubt. Wang Fu with a despairing cry threw himself over the wall and perished, Chou Ts‘ang died by his own hand. Thus the city fell to Wu.

Now the spirit of Kuan the Noble did not dissipate into space, but wandered through the void till it came to a certain spot in Tangyanghsien on a famous hill known as the Mount of the Jade Spring. There lived a venerable Buddhist priest whose name in the faith was P‘u-ching. He was originally of Ssŭshui Kuan and abbot of a state guardian temple. In the course of roaming about the world he had reached this place. Entranced with its natural beauty, he had built himself a shelter of boughs and grass, where he sat in meditation on The Way. He had a novice with him to beg food and to attend to his simple wants.

This night, about the third watch, the moon was bright and the air serene. P‘u-ching sat in his usual attitude in the silence of the mountains. Suddenly he heard a great voice calling in the upper air, “Give back my head; give back my head.”

Gazing upward he saw the shape of a man mounted on a horse. In the hand he saw a shining blade like unto the Black Dragon. Two military figures were with him, one on either side. He on the left had a white face; he on the right was swarthy of countenance with a curly beard. And they followed the figure with the shining blade. They floated along on a cloud which came to rest on the summit of the mountain.

The recluse recognised the figure as that of Kuan the Noble, so with his yak’s tail flagellum he smote the lintel of his hut and cried, “Where is Yün-ch‘ang?”

The spirit understood, and the figure dismounted, glided down and came to rest at the door of the hut. Interlacing its fingers, it stood in a reverential attitude and said, “Who is my teacher, and what is his name in the faith?”

“In the state guardian temple in Ssŭshui Kuan I once saw you, O noble Marquis, and I was not likely to forget your face,” replied the priest.

​“I am deeply grateful for the help you gave me. Misfortune has befallen me, and I have ceased to live. I would seek the pure instruction and beg you to indicate the obscure way.”

“Let us not discuss former wrongdoings nor present correct actions. Later events are the inevitable result of former causes.) I know that Lü Mêng has injured you. You call aloud for the return of your head; who will also return the heads of your several victims—Yen Liang, Wên Ch‘ou and the guardians of the five passes?”

Thereupon Kuan the Noble seemed suddenly to comprehend, bowed in token of assent and disappeared. After this appearance to the recluse his spirit wandered hither and thither about the mountain, manifesting its sacred character and guarding the people.

Impressed by his virtue, the inhabitants builded a temple on the Mountain of the Jade Spring, wherein they sacrificed at the four seasons. In later days, one wrote a couplet for the temple, the first member reading, “Ruddy faced, reflecting the honest heart within, out-riding the wind on the Red Hare steed, mindful of the Red Emperor"; and the second, “In the light of clear lamp, reading the histories, resting on the Black Dragon Blade curved as the young moon, heart pure as the azure heaven.”

The execution of Kuan gave Sun Ch'üan undisputed possession of the whole of the Chingchou district. He rewarded his soldiers and spread a great feast at which Lü Mêng was in the seat of honour. He made a speech, saying, “After long waiting, the desire of my heart has come to me very easily through the magnificent efforts of my friend Lü Mêng.”

Lü Mêng bowed and bowed deprecatingly, but Sun Ch'üan continued, “My good Chou Yü was superior to most men, and he defeated Ts‘ao Ts‘ao at Red Wall. Alas! he died too soon. My good Lu Su succeeded him. His first appearance inaugurated the general policy of creating a state. That was the first instance of his keen insight. When Ts‘ao Ts‘ao descended upon my country, and everyone counselled me to yield, he advised me to summon my good Chou Yü to oppose and smite him. That was the second instance of his keen insight. He made only one fault; he advised me to let Liu Pei occupy this district. Now to-day my good Lü Mêng has succeeded, and in that he far surpasses both his predecessors.”

Then he filled a goblet and in person presented it to the guest of the evening. Lü took the cup, but as he raised it a sudden change came over him. Dashing the cup to the ground, he seized Sun Ch‘üan, crying, “O green-eyed boy! O red-bearded rat! Do you know me?”

Consternation seized the whole assembly, but some rushed to the rescue of their lord, who had been thrown to the floor by the guest he had so lately complimented. Rushing forward ​over his body, Lü Mêng sat himself in the host’s seat, his eyebrows staring stiff and his eyes glaring.

“After I quelled the Yellow Turbans, I went hither and thither for thirty years. Now I have fallen victim to your base plots and you have overcome me. If living I have been unable to gorge upon the flesh of mine enemy, dead I will pursue the spirit of this bandit Lü. I am the Marquis of Hanshout‘ing, Kuan Yün-ch‘ang.”

Terror-stricken, Sun Ch'üan was the first to fall prostrate, and all his officers followed him.

Thereupon Lü Mêng fell over dead, with blood gushing from the seven orifices of his body.

In due time the body was coffined and interred. He was created posthumously “Prefect of Nanchün and Marquis of Ch‘uanling.” His son was given hereditary nobility.

After this visitation Sun Ch'üan lived in constant terror. Soon Chang Chao came in from Chienyeh to see him and blame him for the murder.

“My lord, by the slaughter of Kuan Yü you have brought misfortune very near to your state. You know the oath sworn in the Peach Garden. Now Liu Pei has the force of Hsich‘uan at his back, Chuko Liang as adviser, and those heroes Chang Fei, Huang and Ma Ch‘ao to carry out his behests. When Liu Pei hears of the death of both father and son he will set in motion the whole force he has to avenge them, and I fear you cannot stand such an onslaught.”

Sun Ch'üan started up in a fright. “Yes; I have made a little mistake,” said he. “But seeing it is so, what shall I do?”

“You need have no fear,” replied Chang. “I have a plan to fend off the armies of Hsich‘uan from our borders and keep Chingchou quite safe.”

“What is your plan?” asked Sun Ch'üan.

“Ts‘ao Ts‘ao with his many legions is greedily aiming at the whole country. Liu Pei, eager for revenge, will ally himself with him, and, should they combine against this country, we should be in great danger. Therefore I advise you to send Kuan Yü's head to Ts‘ao Ts‘ao to make it appear that Ts‘ao Ts‘ao was the prime cause of his destruction. This should divert Liu Pei’s extreme hatred toward him and send the armies of Western Shu against Wei instead of toward Wu. After carefully considering the whole matter, I counsel this as the best course of action.”

Sun Ch'üan thought the move worth making, and so the head of the great warrior was placed in a box and sent off as quickly as possible to Ts‘ao Ts‘ao.

At this time Ts‘ao’s army had marched back from Mopei to Loyang. When he heard of the coming of the gruesome gift he was glad at heart and said, “So Yün-ch‘ang is dead; now I can stick to my mat and sleep soundly at night.”

​But Ssǔma I saw through the ruse and said from his place by the steps, “This is a trick to divert evil from Wu.”

“What do you mean? How?” said Ts‘ao Ts‘ao.

“The Peach Garden Oath bound the three brothers to live and die together. Now Wu is fearful of revenge for the execution of one of the three and sends the head to you to cause Liu Pei’s wrath to fasten on you, O Prince. He wishes Liu to attack you instead of himself, the real perpetrator of the crime. Then he will find a way of accomplishing his ends while you two are quarreling.”

“You are right, friend,” said Ts‘ao; “and now how can we escape?”

“I think escape is easy. You have the head of Kuan Yü; make a wooden image of the remainder of the body and bury the whole with the rites suitable to a minister of state. When Liu Pei hears of this he will turn his hate toward Sun Ch'üan and raise all his forces to attack him. If you will think it out you will see that whichever is victor the other will be smitten, and if we get one of the two the other will follow before very long.”

Ts‘ao Ts‘ao was pleased with the solution. Then he ordered the messenger to come in with the box, which was opened, and he looked upon the face of the dead. The features had not changed; the face bore the same appearance as of old. Ts‘ao Ts‘ao smiled.

“I hope you have been well since our last meeting, Yün-ch‘ang,” said Ts‘ao.

To his horror, the mouth opened, the eyes rolled and the long beard and hair stiffened. Ts‘ao Ts‘ao fell to the ground in a swoon.

They rushed to him, but it was a long time before he recovered consciousness.

“General Kuan is indeed a spirit,” he said.

Suddenly the messenger who had brought the dead warrior’s head became also possessed by the spirit of Kuan Yü, and fell to cursing and reviling his master, Sun Ch'üan, and he told the story of what had befallen Lü Mêng.

Ts‘ao Ts‘ao, filled with dread, prepared sacrifices and performed the rites for the honoured dead. An effigy was carved out of heavy “fragrant” wood and buried outside the south gate with all the rites of a princely noble, a huge concourse of officials of all grades following in the procession. At the funeral Ts‘ao Ts‘ao himself bowed before the coffin and poured a libation. He also conferred on the dead the posthumous title of “Prince Ching,” and appointed guardians of the tomb. The messenger was sent back to Wu.

The Prince of Hanchung returned to his capital. Fa Chêng memorialised, saying. “O Prince, thy consort has passed away and the Lady Sun has returned to her maiden home, ​perhaps never to come again. Human relations should not be set at nought, wherefore a secondary consort should be sought, so that all things may be correctly ordered within the palace.”

The prince having signified his acceptance of the principle, Fa Chêng continued, “There is the sister of Wu I, comely and good, and declared by the physiognomist as destined to high honour. She was betrothed to Liu Pao, son of Liu Yen, but he died in youth, and she has remained unwedded. Take her as a wife.”

“It is incompatible with propriety; Liu Mao and I are of the same ancestry.”

“As to the degree of relationship, would it differ from the marriage of Wên of Chin and Huaiying?”

Upon this precedent the prince gave his consent and wedded the lady, and she bore to him two sons, the elder of whom was named Jung and the younger Li.

Meanwhile, the whole land of Shu was prospering, the people were tranquil, and the state was becoming wealthy. The fields yielded bountiful harvests. Suddenly there came one who told of the attempt of Sun Ch'üan to ally himself with Kuan Yü by marriage, and the indignant rejection of the proposal.

“Chingchou is in danger,” said K‘ung-ming. “Recall and replace Kuan Yü.”

Then began to arrive a series of messengers from Chingchou, bearers of news of the moves in the game. At first they brought good tidings, then evil. Kuan Hsing came first to tell of the drowning of the seven armies. Then one reported the installation of beacon towers along the river bank, and other preparations which seemed as near perfect as any could be. And Liu Pei’s anxiety ceased.

But evil tidings were on the way. Liu Pei was ill at ease and felt a creepiness of the skin that boded evil. He was restless by day and sleepless by night. One night he rose from his couch and was reading by the light of a candle when drowsiness overcame him and he fell asleep over the low table by his side. He dreamed. A cold gust of wind swept through the chamber, almost putting out the candle flame. When it brightened again he glanced up and saw a figure standing near the light.

“Who are you, who thus come by night to my chamber?” asked he.

The figure made no reply, and Yüan-tê got up to go over and see who it was. Then the figure took the shape of his brother. But it avoided him, retreating as he advanced.

“Brother, there is nothing wrong, I hope. But surely something of great importance brings you here thus in the dead of the night. And why do you avoid me thus; your brother, who loves you as himself?”

​Then the figure wept and said, “Brother, send your armies to avenge me.”

As Kuan Yü said that, a chilly blast went through the room, and the figure disappeared. Just then Yüan-tê awoke and knew that he had dreamed.

The drums were beating the third watch as he awoke. He felt greatly worried and disturbed. So he went into the front portion of the palace and sent for K‘ung-ming. Soon he came, and Yüan-tê told him of the vision.

“You have been thinking too deeply of Kuan Yü lately, my lord,” said K‘ung-ming. “There is no need to be distressed."

But Yüan-tê could not find comfort, and K‘ung-ming was long in calming his feelings and arguing away his fancies.

As K‘ung-ming left the palace he met Hsü Ching, who said, “I have a very secret piece of news to tell you, so I came on here.”

“What is your secret?”

“There is a report about that Wu has got possession of Chingchou; Lü Mêng has taken it. And more than that, Kuan Yü is dead. I had to come to tell you.'

“I saw it in the sky. A large star fell over against Chingchou, and I knew some evil had befallen Kuan Yü. But I feared the effect upon our master and I forbore to say anything.' ”

They did not know that Yüan-tê was standing just within the door. Suddenly he rushed out, seized K‘ung-ming by the sleeve and said, “Why did you deceive me? Why, when you had such terrible news?”

“Because it is only a rumour,” replied they. “It is too improbable for belief. We pray you not to be distressed.”

“By our oath we live or die together; how can I go on living if he is lost?”

The two men soothed their lord as best they could, but even as they spoke to him one of the private attendants said that Ma Liang and I Chi had arrived. Yüan-tê called them in and questioned them eagerly. They said Chingchou was indeed lost, and Kuan Yü begged for instant help.

The letters they brought had not been read before Liao Hua was ushered in. He prostrated himself and, weeping, told the story of the refusal of help on the part of Liu Fêng and Mêng Ta.

“Then is my brother lost!” cried Yüan-tê.

“If those two have really behaved so badly, the offence is even too great for death,” said K‘ung-ming. “But calm “But calm yourself, O Prince. I will see about an army and lead it to the rescue.”

“If Yün-ch‘ang is gone, I cannot live,” moaned Yüan-tê. “To-morrow I will set out with an army to rescue him.”

Yüan-tê sent off a messenger to Chang Fei and gave orders to muster horse and foot for instant departure.

​Before day dawned other messengers arrived, giving step by step the sequence of the tragedy, the last relating Kuan Yü's capture, haughty refusal to bend, and his death.

When he heard of the final catastrophe, Yüan-tê uttered a great cry and fell swooning.

What happened will be told in the next chapter.