San Kuo/Volume 2/Chapter 85

It was in the sixth month of the second year of Chang-Wu that Lu Hsün destroyed the army of Shu at Iling and forced the king to seek refuge in Paitich'êng, of which Chao Yün then undertook the defence. When Ma Liang returned only to find his lord defeated he was more distressed than he could say. He announced what K‘ung-ming had said concerning the plans, and the First Ruler sighed, saying, “If I had listened to the Prime Minister’s advice the defeat would not have happened. Now how can I face a return to my capital?”

So he promulgated a command to change the guest-house into the “Palace of Eternal Peace.' He was deeply grieved when they told him of the death of so many of his captains. Next he heard that Huang Ch'üan, who had been given command of the army on the north bank, had given in to Wei. They suggested to him that the family of the renegade was in his power and he could hold them responsible. But he only said, “The army was quite cut off, and he had no alternative but to surrender. Really, I betrayed him, not he me. Why should I take vengeance on his family?”

So he continued the issue of the renegade’s pay to his family.

When Huang Ch'üan surrendered he was led into the presence of the King of Wei, who said, “You have surrendered to me because you desired to imitate the admirable conduct of Ch'ên and Han.”

But Huang replied, weeping, “The Emperor of Shu has been very kind to me, and he gave me the leadership of the army on the north bank. Lu Hsün cut me off so that I could not return to Shu, and I would not surrender to Wu, wherefore I have yielded to Your Majesty. Defeated as I am, I should be only too happy if my life were spared, but I have no claim to the credit of the virtuous ones of old.”

The reply satisfied the King of Wei, and he conferred an office on Huang, who, however, declined the offer. Then one of the courtiers said that a spy had reported that all the family of Huang had been put to death. But the leader replied that he could not believe it.

​“I have the greatest confidence in the clemency of the King of Shu. He knows I would not have surrendered of my own free will, and he would not injure my family.”

And the King of Wei agreed with his opinion.

But a poem has been written upbraiding Huang Ch'üan:

Ts‘ao P‘ei sought advice from Chia Hsü concerning his design of bringing the whole country under his own rule.

“I wish to bring the whole empire under my rule; which shall I first reduce, Shu or Wu?”

“Liu Pei is an able warrior, and Chuko Liang is a most capable administrator; Sun Ch'üan possesses discrimination, and his general, Lu Hsün, occupies all the strategical positions of importance. The natural obstacles, the intervening rivers and spreading lakes, would be hard to overcome. I do not think you have any leader to match either of these two men. Even with the prestige of Your Majesty’s own presence, no one could guarantee the result. The better course is to hold on and await the outcome of the struggle between those other two.”

“I have already despatched three armies against Wu; can it be that they will fail?”

The President, Liu Yeh, held the same opinion as his colleague. Said he, “Lu Hsün has just won a great victory over the great host of Shu, and all his army is full of confidence. Further, there are the lakes and the rivers, which are natural difficulties hard to cope with. And again, Lu Hsün is resourceful and well prepared.”

The king said, “Formerly, Sir, you urged me to attack Wu; why do you now give contrary advice?”

“Because times have changed. When Wu was suffering defeat after defeat the country was depressed and might be smitten. Now this great victory has changed all that and their morale has increased a hundredfold. I say now they may not be attacked.”

“Well; but I have decided to attack. So say no more,” said the king.

He then led the Imperial Guards out to support his three armies. But the scouts soon brought news justifying the opinion of his advisers. A force had been sent to oppose each of his three armies. Liu Yeh pointed this out and again said that no success could be expected. Still the king was obstinate, and marched.

​The Wu leader, Chu Huan, who had been sent against Ts‘ao Jên at Juhsü, was a young man of twenty-seven. He was bold and resourceful, and Sun Ch'üan held him in great regard. Hearing that Ts‘ao Jên was going to attack Tzuchi, Chu led the bulk of his men to befend it, leaving only half a legion in Juhsü. Then he heard that the van of the enemy, under Ch‘ang Tiao, had made a dash for Juhsü, so he hastened back and found the small garrison a prey to fear. Drawing his sword, he made a speech, “Success depends upon the leader rather than on the number of men. The 'Art of War' says that the value of soldiers who come from afar is doubled; that of those who inhabit a place is halved, yet always those who are in possession overcome those who come from afar. Now the enemy is weary from a long march and I and you, my men, can hold this place together. We have a great river to defend us on the south, and we are backed by the mountains on the north. Success should be ours easily, and we are as hosts at home awaiting the arrival of our weary visitors. This will give us victory in every fight. Even if the great Ts‘ao P‘ei come, we need feel no anxiety. How much less care we for Ts‘ao Jên and his men?”

Then he issued orders to furl all the banners and to silence all the drums as if the city was empty of defenders.

In time, Ch‘ang Tiao and his veterans of the van came to the city. Not a man was visible, and he hastened forward with all speed. But as he neared the city, suddenly a bomb went off. Immediately up rose a forest of flags, and out dashed Chu Huan, with his sword drawn. And he made for Ch‘ang Tiao. In the third encounter he cut down his enemy, and his men, rushing to the attack, thoroughly routed the invaders, slaying innumerable men. Beside scoring a complete victory, Chu Huan took much spoil of flags and weapons and horses. Ts‘ao Jên himself, coming up later, was attacked by the garrison of Tzŭchi and also routed. He fled home to his master with the news of defeat and destruction.

And before the king could decide what course to take in regard to this loss the news came of the defeat of his other two armies.

So all three had failed and were lost, and P‘ei sighed and said sadly, “This has come from my wilfulness and neglect of advice.”

The summer of that year was very unhealthy, and a pestilence swept away the soldiers in huge numbers. So they were marched home to Loyang. The two countries were at enmity though they were not fighting.

Meanwhile the First Ruler was failing. He remained in his Palace of Eternal Peace and presently was confined to his couch. Gradually he became worse, and in the fourth moon of the third year his condition became serious. He himself ​felt the end was near, and he was depressed and wept for his two lost brothers till the sight of his eyes suffered. He was morose and ill-tempered: he could not bear any of his court near him, drove away his servants and lay upon his couch sad and solitary.

One evening as thus he lay, a sudden gust of wind came into the chamber, almost extinguishing the candles. As they burned bright again he saw two men standing in the shade behind them.

“I told you I was worried,” said the king, “and bade you leave me; why have you come back? Go!”

But they remained and did not go. Wherefore the king rose and went over to look at them. As he drew near he saw one was Yün-ch‘ang; the other I-tê.

“Are you still alive, then, brothers?” said he.

“We are not men; we are shades,” said Kuan Yü. “The Supreme One has conferred spirithood upon us in consideration of our faithfulness throughout life, and ere long, brother, we three shall be together again.”

The king clutched at the figures and burst into tears; then he awoke. The two figures were no longer there. He called in his people and asked the hour: they told him the third watch.

“I am not much longer for this world,” said he with a sigh.

Messengers were sent to the capital to summon the Prime Minister and certain other high officers of state to receive the king’s last instructions. They came, K‘ung-ming bringing the two younger sons. The eldest, the heir-apparent, was left in charge of the capital.

K‘ung-ming saw at once that his master was very ill. He bowed to the ground at the foot of the “dragon” couch. The dying king bade him come near and sit beside him, and he patted his faithful minister on the back, saying, “The attainment of emperorship was your work. Little thought you that I should prove so stupid as not to follow your advice and so bring about the late disasters. But I am deeply sorry, and now I shall not live long. My heir is a degenerate, but I must leave him to do the best he can with the great inheritance."

And the tears flowed in streams.

“I trust Your Majesty will fulfil the hopes of the people by a speedy recovery,” said K‘ung-ming, also in tears.

Turning his head, the king saw Ma Liang’s brother at the bedside. He bade him retire. When he had left the chamber, the king said, “Do you think Ma Su is clever?”

“He is one of the ablest men in the world,” said K‘ung-ming.

“I do not think so. I think his words exceed his deeds. Do not make much use of him. Watch him carefully.”

Having said this, he bade them summon the high officers of state to the chamber. Taking paper and pen the First Ruler wrote his testament. He handed it to the Prime ​Minister with a sigh and said, “I am no great scholar, and I only know the rough outlines of what should be known. But the Holy One has said that a bird’s song is sad when death is near and a dying man’s words are good. I was waiting that we might aid each other in the destruction of Ts‘ao and the restoration of the Hans, but ere the work is complete I am called away, and this last command of mine I confide to you as Prime Minister to be handed to my son and heir, Chan. My words are to be taken seriously. I trust that you will instruct and guide my son.”

K‘ung-ming and all those present wept and prostrated themselves, saying, “We pray Your Majesty to repose yourself. We will do our utmost whereby to prove our gratitude for the kindness we have received.”

At the king’s command the attendants raised K‘ung-ming from the earth. With one hand the dying man brushed away the falling tears, while with the other he grasped K‘ung-ming’s hand and said, “The end is near; I have something more to say as to a friend.”

“What holy command has Your Majesty to give?”

“You are many times more clever than Ts‘ao P‘ei, and you must safeguard the kingdom and complete the great work. If my son can be helped, help him. But if he prove a fool then take the throne yourself.”

Such a speech almost startled K‘ung-ming out of his senses. A cold sweat broke out all over his body, and his limbs threatened to cease to support him. He fell on his knees, saying, “I could never do otherwise than wear myself to the bone in the service of your son, whom I will serve till death.”

He knocked his head upon the ground. The dying man called K‘ung-ming closer, and at the same time making his two sons come near, he said to them, “My sons, remember your father’s words. After my death you are to treat the Prime Minister as you would your father and be not remiss, for thereby you will fulfil your father’s hopes.' ”

He made the two princes pay to K‘ung-ming the obeisance due to a father.

Said K‘ung-ming, “Were I destroyed and ground into the earth, I should be unable to repay the kindness I have experienced.”

Turning to the assembled officers, the First Ruler said, “As you have seen, I have confided my orphan son to the care of the Prime Minister and bidden my sons treat him as a father. You too, Sirs, are to treat him with deference. This is my dying request and charge to you.”

Turning to Chao Yün, he said, “I and you have gone together through many dangers and difficulties. Now comes the parting of our ways. You will not forget our old friendship, and you must see to it that my sons follow my precepts.”

​“I shall never dare to give other than my best,” said Chao Yün. “The fidelity of the dog and horse is mine to give and shall be theirs.”

Then he turned to the others, “Noble Sirs, I am unable to speak to you one by one and lay a charge upon each individual; but I say to you, Maintain your self-respect.”

These were his last words. He was sixty-three, and he died on the twenty-fourth day of the fourth month (223 a. d.)

A poem was written by Tu Fu on his death:—

Thus died the First Ruler. All present lifted up their voices and wept.

The Prime Minister led the procession that escorted the coffin to the capital, and the heir, Liu Ch‘an, came to the outskirts of the city, as a dutiful son should, to receive the remains with due respect. The coffin was laid in the Great Hall of the palace, wherein they lamented and performed the ceremonies appointed. At the end of these the testament was opened and read.

“I first fell ill from a simple ailment. Other disorders followed, and it became evident that I should not recover. They say that death at fifty cannot be called premature, and as I have passed three score I may not resent the call. But when I think of you and your brothers I regret. Now I say to you, strive and strive again. Do no evil because it is a small evil; do not leave undone a small good because it is a small good. Only with wisdom and virtue men can be won. But your father’s virtue was but slender and unequal to the strain.

“After my death you are to conduct the affairs of the state with the Prime Minister. You are to treat him as a father and serve him without remissness. You and your brothers are to seek instruction. This is my final and simple command.' ”

When this had been read, K‘ung-ming said, “The state cannot go a single day without a prince, wherefore I beg you to install the heir as successor to the great line of the Hans.”

Thereupon the ceremony was performed, and the new Emperor took his place. The style of the reign was changed to Chien-Hsing. Chuko Liang became “Marquis of Wuhsiang and Governor of Ichou.”

Then they buried the late king at Huiling with the posthumous style of Chao-Lieh Huang-ti.

​The Empress, of the Wu family, was formally created Empress Dowager. The late consort Kan became Chao-Lieh Empress, and the Lady Mi was granted similar, also posthumous, rank. There were promotions in rank and rewards for all, and a general amnesty was proclaimed.

Before long, knowledge of these things came to the army of Wei, and a report was sent to the capital and made known to the Prince of Wei. Ts‘ao P‘ei felt relieved and was glad of the death of his rival, and his thoughts at once turned toward an attack during the critical moment of a change of ruler.

But Chia Hsü dissuaded him. “Liu Pei is gone, but surely he has confided the care of the state to Chuko Liang, who is indebted to him so deeply. He will exhaust every effort to support his young lord. You may not hastily attack.”

As he tendered this remonstrance, a man suddenly stepped out from the serried ranks of courtiers and said fiercely, “If you neglect this moment can you expect a more favourable opportunity?”

All eyes turned to the speaker; it was Ssŭma I.

The interruption greatly pleased P‘ei, who at once asked how it was to be done. He propounded his plan in the following speech:—

“It would be very difficult to obtain success with our own resources. Hence we must use five armies and attack all round at the same time, so as to embarrass Chuko Liang.”

“Where are the five armies to come from?” said Ts‘ao P‘ei.

Ssŭma went on, “The first is to be got from Liaotung, from the Hsian-pi country (Inner Mongolia). You must write to Prince K‘opinêng and send him presents of gold and silks so that he may send ten legions of the Ch‘iang (Tanguts) from Liaohsi to attack Hsip‘ing Pass. Secondly, the present prince of the Man Tribes, Mênghuo, must be persuaded to attack the south of Hsich'üan, the districts of Ichou, Jungch‘ang, Tsangko and Yüehchien. Thirdly, you must send an ambassador to Wu with fair promises of an increase of territory, and so induce Sun Ch'üan to lead ten legions to the attack, making Fouch'êng his objective. The fourth army can be got from Mêng Ta in Shangyung, who can attack Hanchung. Lastly, our own force may be placed under Ts‘ao Chên, who will attack by way of Yangping Pass. With fifty legions making a simultaneous attack along five different directions, it would be hard for Chuko Liang to hold his own even if he had the talent of Lü Wang (T‘ai Kung) himself.”

The scheme delighted Ts‘ao P‘ei, who at once cast about for four glib-tongued messengers. He also issued a commission to Ts‘ao Chên as Commander-in-chief.

At this time Chang Liao and most others of the veterans who had served Ts‘ao Ts‘ao were enjoying their leisure in ​various parts of the country, and as nobles were keeping watch and ward at certain passes and fords and such places. Their appointments were more or less sinecures. They were not summoned for this expedition to the west.

Although all the details of what came to pass in Shu after the accession of the Second King Liu Ch‘an need not be told yet it may be noted that many of those who had served his father died after the decease of their master. The work of the administration of the kingdom, the choice of officials, law-making, taxation, decision of legal cases, was all done by the Prime Minister.

As the new king had no consort, the courtiers, headed by K‘ung-ming, proposed a daughter of the late Chang Fei as young and prudent, and she was married to the Emperor and so became Empress.

It was in the autumn of the year of his accession that the Later Ruler heard of the plans and intentions of Wei against his state. The persons who told him gave him full details of the five armies and said they had previously told the Prime Minister.

“But his conduct puzzles us,” said the informers. “We do not know why he does not take some action instead of remaining shut up in his palace all the time.”

The Later Ruler became really alarmed, and he sent one of his personal attendants to call the Prime Minister to court. The servant was gone a long time, and then returned to say that the servants had told him the Prime Minister was ill and not to be seen.

The young Emperor’s distress increased, and he sent two high officers to K‘ung-ming, saying they were to see him even if he was on his couch and tell him the dreadful news of invasion. They went; but they got no farther than the gate. The keepers of the gate refused them admission. Then they confided their message in brief to the wardens of the gate, who went inside with it. After keeping them waiting a long time the wardens returned to say that the Prime Minister was rather better and would be at court in the morning.

The two messengers sighed deeply as they wended their way to the Emperor’s palace.

Next morning a great crowd of officers assembled at the gate of the Prime Minister’s residence to wait for him to appear. But he did not come out. It began to grow late, and many of them were tired of waiting, when at last Tu Ch‘iung, one of the two who had been sent to tell K‘ung-ming why his presence was desired at council, went again to the Emperor and suggested that His Majesty should go in person and try to get K‘ung-ming to say what should be done.

The Emperor then returned to his palace and told his Consort his trouble. She was also alarmed.

​“What can he mean?” said she. “This does not look like acting in the spirit of the charge laid upon him by the late Emperor. Let me go myself.”

“Oh no,” said Tung Yün. “Your Majesty must not go. We think all is well, and the Prime Minister certainly understands and will do something. Beside, you must let His Majesty go first, and if the Prime Minister still shows remissness then Your Majesty can summon him to the Temple of the Dynasty and ask him.”

So it was left at that. And the next day the Emperor rode in his chariot to the gate of his minister. When the doorkeepers saw the imperial chariot appear they fell upon their faces to welcome the Emperor.

“Where is the Prime Minister?” asked he.

“We do not know. But we have orders not to let in the crowd of officers.”

The Emperor then descended and went on foot right in to the third gate. Then he saw K‘ung-ming leaning on a staff beside a fishpond looking at the fish. He approached, and stood behind him for a long time. Presently the king said slowly and with dignity, “Is the Prime Minister really enjoying himself?”

K‘ung-ming started and looked round. When he saw who the speaker was he suddenly dropped his staff and prostrated himself.

“I ought to be put to death ten thousand times,” said he.

But the Emperor put forth his hand and helped him to rise, saying, “Ts‘ao P‘ei threatens immediate invasion from five points; why will you not come forth and attend to business?”

Kʻung-ming laughed. He conducted the Emperor into an inner room, and, when he was seated, K‘ung-ming addressed his king, saying, “Could it be possible that I was ignorant of these five armies? I was not looking at the fish; I was thinking.”

“But, this being so, what shall we do?”

“I have already turned back that K‘opinêng, of the Tanguts, and Mênghuo of the Man and the rebel leader Mêng Ta and the army from Wei. I have also thought out a plan to circumvent the army from Wu, but I need a special sort of man to carry it out. I want an envoy, an able talker, one capable of persuading other people. It was because I have not found such a man yet that I was so deeply in thought. But Your Majesty may set your mind at rest and not be anxious.”

The Later Ruler heard this half terrified and half glad.

“Surely your superhuman devices are too deep for mortal man. But may I ask how these armies have been made to turn back.”

Since His late Majesty bade me take the best care of your welfare, I dare not be remiss for a single moment. These ​officers in Ch'êngtu are ignorant of that refinement of war which consists in not allowing the enemy to guess your plans. How could I let them know anything? When I heard that the Tanguts might invade, I remembered that Ma Ch‘ao’s fore fathers were friendly with them and they had a high opinion of Ma Ch‘ao, thinking him a leader of supreme prestige. So I sent orders by despatch to Ma Ch‘ao to hold the Hsip‘ing Pass, and to prepare ambushes in certain places and change them daily so as to keep the Ch‘iang off. That settled them. I sent hastily to the south to order Wei Yen to move certain bodies of men about through the south-west districts, to be seen and then to disappear, to go in and come out and march to and fro, so that the Mans should be perplexed. The Mans are brave, but prone to doubts and hesitations, and they would not advance in the face of the unknown. Hence there is nothing to fear in that quarter. I also knew that Mêng Ta and our Li Yen were sworn friends. I had left him in charge of the Palace of Eternal Tranquillity. I then wrote a letter as if from Li to Mêng, so that I know Mêng will feign illness and not move his army. I sent Chao Yün to occupy all the strategical positions on the way by which Ts‘ao Chên would march, and bade him defend only and not go out to battle. If our men refuse to come out, Ts‘ao Chên will certainly have to retire. So all those four are settled. But for greater security I have sent your two cousins each with three legions to camp at points whence they can quickly help any of the others who may need it. And none of these arrangements are known here.

“Now there is only Wu left to deal with. Had the other four succeeded and Shu been in danger, Sun Ch'üan would have come to the attack. If the others fail I know he will not budge, for he will remember that Ts‘ao P‘ei has just sent three armies to attack his country. And this being so, I want some man with a ready tongue and ingenious mind to go and talk plainly to Sun Ch'üan. So far I have not found such a man, and I am perplexed. I regret that I have given Your Majesty occasion to make this journey.”

“My Consort also wanted to come,” said the Emperor. “But now you have spoken, O Minister-Father, I am as one awakened from a dream; I shall grieve no more.”

They two drank a few cups of wine together, and the minister escorted his master to his chariot. A ring of courtiers were waiting, and they could not help remarking the happiness that shone in their master’s face. The Emperor took his leave and returned to his palace, but the courtiers did not know what to think.

Now K‘ung-ming had noted a certain man among the crowd who smiled and looked quite happy. He looked at him intently and then recollected his name, which was Têng Chih, a man of ​reputable ancestry, who came from Hsinyeh. He sent a man privately to detain Têng, and when all the others had gone, K‘ung-ming led him into the library for a chat. Presently he came to the matter near his heart.

“The three states have become a fact,” said he. “Now if our state wanted to absorb the other two and restore the condition of one rule, which country should it attack first?”

“Though Wei is the real rebel, yet Wei is strong and would be very difficult to overthrow. Any move against it would have to develop slowly. As our Emperor has but lately succeeded his father and the people are none too decided in his favour, I should propose a treaty of mutual defence with Wu. This would obliterate the enmity of His late Majesty and would have important results. However, you, Sir, may have another opinion. What is it?”

“That is what I have been thinking of this long time, but I had not the man for the task. Now I have found him.”

“What do you want a man to do?”

“I want him to go as envoy to Wu to negotiate such a treaty. As you understand the position so well you will surely do honour to your prince’s commission as envoy. There is no other who would succeed.”

“I fear I am not equal to such a task: I am not clever enough and too ignorant.”

I will inform the Emperor to-morrow and beg him to appoint you. Of course you will accept.”

Têng Chih consented and then took his leave. As promised, K‘ung-ming memorialised, and the Emperor consented that the mission should be entrusted to Têng Chih. And he started.

For the success or failure of this mission read the next chapter.