San Kuo/Volume 2/Chapter 89

K'ung-ming’s small carriage was escorted by only a few horsemen. Hearing that a sluggish river, the Western Erh, lay in the way, and having no boat, K‘ung-ming bade the escort cut down some trees and make a raft. They did so; but the raft sank. So K‘ung-ming turned to Lü K‘ai and said, “There is close by a mountain covered with bamboos. I have heard of these bamboos, and some are several spans in girth. We can make a bridge of them for the army to cross.”

So three legions were sent to the mountains, where they cut down many thousands of bamboos, and floated them down river. Then at the narrowest point they made a bridge a hundred feet or so in length. Next the main army was brought down to the river and camped in line along the bank. The camp was protected by a moat, crossed by a floating bridge, and a mud rampart. On the south bank they constructed three large stockades so as to prepare for the coming of the Man soldiers.

They had not long to wait. King Mênghuo was hot with rage and came quickly. As soon as he got near the river, he led out a legion of fierce warriors and challenged the first stockade.

K‘ung-ming went forth in simple state. He wore a silk cap, a white robe and held in his hand a feather fan. He sat in a small quadriga, and his captains rode right and left.

The King of the Mans was clad in mail of rhinoceros hide and wore a bright red casque. In his left hand he bore a shield, and his right gripped a sword. He rode an ordinary ox.

As soon as he saw his enemies he opened his mouth and poured forth abuse and insults, while his men darted to and fro brandishing their weapons.

Kʻung-ming at once ordered the army to retire within the stockades and bar the gates. The Mans came close up to the stockade and pranced about naked, shouting in derision.

Within the stockade the captains grew very angry, and they went in a body to their leader to beg that he would withdraw the order to remain on the defensive. But he would not listen. ​Presently he said, “These men are ignorant of our culture and are naturally fierce and turbulent. In that mood we are no match for them. But all we have to do is to remain on guard for a few days till their ferocity has spent itself. Then I have a plan that will overcome them.”

Days passed, and the men of Shu made no move; they only maintained the defensive. K‘ung-ming watched the besiegers from an eminence, and saw the first vigour of their advance give way to careless idleness. Then K‘ung-ming called together his captains and asked if they dared give battle. They all rejoiced at the suggestion; so he called them two by two or one by one and gave them secret orders. Chao Yün and Wei Yen went in first. Wang P‘ing and Ma Chung followed.

To Ma Tai he said, “I am going to abandon these stockades and retire north of the river. As soon as we have crossed you are to cut loose the floating bridge and move it down the stream so that Chao and Wei may cross.”

Chang I was to remain by the camp and light it up at night as if it was still occupied. When Mênghuo pursued, then he was to cut off his retreat. Last of all, Kuan So was to escort K‘ung-ming’s carriage.

The soldiers marched out of the camp at evening, and the lamps were hung up as usual. The Mans saw this from a distance and dared not attack. But the next morning at dawn Mênghuo led his men to the stockades and found all was quiet. He went close up and saw they were all empty and bare; not a man was there. Grain and fodder lay about among empty carts; all was in confusion, suggesting hasty departure.

“They have abandoned the camp,” said Mênghuo. “But this is only a ruse.

“I think that Chuko Liang has important news from the capital that has made him leave without his baggage train like this. Either Wu has invaded or Wei has attacked. They left these lamps burning to make us think the camps were occupied, but they ran away leaving everything behind. If we pursue we cannot go wrong. ”

So the king urged his army onward, himself heading the leading division. When they reached the Erhho bank they saw on the farther side that the camps were all in order and the banners flying as usual like a brightly tinted cloud of silk. Along the bank stood a wall of cloth. They dared not attack.

Mênghuo said to his brother, “This means that Chuko fears lest we may pursue. That is only a temporary halt, and they will retire in a couple of days.”

The Mans camped on the river bank while they sent into the mountains to cut bamboos to make rafts. The boldest of the soldiers were placed in front of the camp till the rafts should ​be ready to cross. Little did Mênghuo suspect that the army of Shu was already within his borders.

One day was very stormy. Then the Mans saw great lights spring up around them, and at the same time the rolling of drums heralded an attack. The Mans and the Laos, instead of going out to meet the enemy, began a fight between themselves. Mênghuo became alarmed and fled with all his clan and dependents. They fought their way through and made a dash for their former camp.

Just as they reached it there appeared a cohort of the enemy led by Chao Yün. Mênghuo turned off west and sought refuge in the mountains. But he was stopped by a cohort under Ma Tai. With a small remnant of his men he got away into a valley. Soon he saw clouds of dust rising on three sides and the glow of torches, so that he was forced to halt. However, the east remained clear, and presently he fled in that direction. As he was crossing the mouth of a gully he noticed a few horsemen outlined against a thick wood and saw they were escorting a small carriage. And in that carriage sat K‘ung-ming.

Kʻung-ming laughed, and said, “So the defeated king of the Mans has got here! I have waited for you a long time, O King.”

Mênghuo angrily turned to his followers and said, “Thrice have I been the victim of this man’s base wiles and have been put to shame. Now chance has sent him across my path, and you must attack him with all your energy. Let us cut him to pieces and those with him.”

A few of the Man horsemen, with Mênghuo shouting to encourage them, pushed forward in hot haste toward the wood. But in a few moments they all stumbled and disappeared into some pits that had been dug in the way. And just then Wei Yen emerged from the wood. One by one the Mans were pulled out of the pits and bound tight with cords.

Kʻung-ming returned to his camp, where he arrived before the captors of the king could bring in their prisoner. He busied himself in soothing the other Man prisoners. Many of the notables and chiefs of the tributaries had betaken themselves to their own ravines and villages with their kerns and followers. Many of those who remained came over and yielded to Shu. They were well fed and assured of safety, and allowed to go to their own. They went off gladly enough.

By and by Chang I brought up the king’s brother. K‘ung-ming reproached him for his brother’s behaviour.

“Your brother is a misguided simpleton; you ought to remonstrate with him and persuade him to change his course. Here you are, a captive for the fourth time; are you not ashamed? How can you have the effrontery to look anyone in the face?”

​A deep flush of shame passed over his face, and he threw himself to the earth begging forgiveness.

Kʻung-ming said, “If I put you to death, it shall not be to-day. This time I pardon you, but you are to talk to your brother.”

So Mêngyu was loosed from his bonds and allowed to get up. He went away weeping.

Very soon Wei Yen brought up the king, and to him K‘ungming simulated great rage, saying, “What can you say now? You see you are in my hands again.”

“I am again an unfortunate victim,” said the king. “Once more I have blundered into your net, and now I shall die with no one to close my eyes.”

K‘ung-ming shouted to the lictors to take him away and behead him. Mênghuo never blenched at the sentence, but he turned to his captor and said, “If you freed me only once more I would wipe out the shame of all four captures.”

K‘ung-ming smiled at the bold reply and bade the lictors loose his bonds, and the attendants served him with wine. Mênghuo was invited to sit in the commander’s tent.

Said K‘ung-ming, “Four times you have been treated generously and yet you are still defiant. Why?”

“Though I am what you call a barbarian, I would scorn to employ your vile ruses. And that is why I remain defiant.”

“I have liberated you four times; think you you can give battle again?”

“If you catch me again I will incline my heart to yield and I will give everything in my ravine to reward your men. I will also take an oath not to cause any further trouble.”

K‘ung-ming smiled, but let him go. The king thanked him and left. As soon as he was set at liberty the king got together as many of his adherents as he could and went away southward. Before long he fell in with his brother, Mêngyu, who had got together some sort of an army and was on his way to avenge his brother. As soon as they saw each other the brothers fell upon each other’s necks and wept. They related their experiences.

Mêngyu said, “We cannot stand against the enemy. We have been defeated several times. Now I think we had better go into the mountains and hide in some dark gully where they cannot find us. Those men of Shu will never stand the summer heat; they must retire.”

“Where can we hide?” asked his brother.

“I know a valley away south-west from us called 'T‘ulung Ravine,' or 'Bald Dragon Ravine,' and the chief, Tossŭ, is a friend of mine. Let us take refuge with him.”

“Very well; go and arrange it,” said Mênghuo.

So Mêngyu went. When he got there, the chief, Prince Tossů, lost no time, but came out with his soldiers to welcome ​Mênghuo, who then entered the valley. After the exchange of salutations, Mênghuo explained his case.

Tossŭ said, “O King, rest content. If those men from the Land of Streams come here I will see to it that not one goes home. And Chuko Liang will meet his death here too.”

Naturally, Mênghuo was pleased; but he wanted to know how his host could feel so secure.

Tossŭ said, “In this ravine there are only two roads, the one you came by and another by the north-west. The road you travelled along is level, soft and the waters are sweet. Men and horses may both use it. But if we close the mouth of the ravine with a barricade no one, however strong, can get in. The other road is precipitous, dangerous and narrow. The only path is beset with venomous serpents and scorpions, and as evening comes on there are malarial exhalations which are dangerous till past noon the next day. The road is only practicable between shên (3 p m.) and yu (7 p m.), for about three watches. Then the water is undrinkable. The road is very difficult.

“Then again there are four wells actually poisonous. One is called 'The Dumb Spring.' Its water is pleasant to the palate, but it makes men dumb and they die in a few days. A second fountain is called 'The Spring of Destruction' and is hot. But if a man bathe therein his flesh rots till his bones protrude and he dies. The third is 'The Black Spring.' Its waters are greenish. If it be sprinkled on a man’s body his extremities turn black and presently he dies. The fourth is 'The Spring of Weak Water,' ice cold. If a man drink of this water his breath is chilled, he becomes weak as a thread and soon dies. Neither birds nor insects are found in this region, and no one but the Han General Ma Yüan, who was styled 'Fu-po' for this exploit, has ever passed. Now the north-east road shall be blocked, and you may hide here perfectly safe from those men of Shu, for, finding that way blocked, they will try the other road, which is waterless save for the four deadly springs. No matter how many they be, they will perish, and we need no weapons.”

“Now indeed I have found a place to live in,” cried Mênghuo, striking his forehead. Then looking to the north he said, “Even Chuko Liang’s wonderful cunning will be of no avail. The four springs alone will defeat him and avenge my army.”

The two brothers settled down comfortably as guests of the Prince Tossŭ, with whom they spent the days in feasting.

In the meantime, as the Mans did not appear, K‘ung-ming gave orders to leave the West Erh (Hsierh) River and push south. It was then the sixth month, and blazing hot. A poet sang about the bitter heat of the south:—

Another poem runs:—

Just at the moment of setting out southward, the spies brought news of Mênghuo’s retreat into the Bald Dragon Ravine and the barricading of one entrance. They also said that the valley was garrisoned, the hills were precipitous and even impassable. So K‘ung-ming called in Lü K‘ai and questioned him, but he did not know exactly the conditions.

Then out spoke Chiang Yüan, saying, “Mênghuo’s repeated captures have broken his spirit so that he dare not take the field again. The men are exhausted with this intense heat and little is to be gained by prolonging the campaign. The best move would be to return to our own country.”

“If we do this we shall fall victims to Mênghuo’s scheme,” said K‘ung-ming. If we retreated he would certainly follow. Beside, having advanced so far, it would be foolish to turn back now.”

Wang P‘ing was sent on with the advanced guard and some of the Mans as guides to seek an entrance on the north-west. They found the road and came to the first spring, of which the thirsty men and horses drank freely.

Wang P‘ing returned to report his success, but by the time he reached camp he and all his men were speechless. They could only point to their mouths. K‘ung-ming knew they had been poisoned, and was alarmed. He went forward in his light chariot to find out the cause. He came to the spring. The water was very deep and dark green. A mass of vapour hung about the surface rising and falling. The men would not touch the water. K‘ung-ming went up the hills to look around, but could see nothing except a rampart of mountains. A deep silence hung over all, unbroken by the cry even of a bird. He was perplexed.

Presently he noticed an old temple away up among the crags. By the aid of the lianas and creepers he managed to clamber up, and in a chamber hewn out of the rock he saw the figure of an officer. Beside it was a tablet saying the temple was dedicated to Ma Yüan, the famous general who had preceded him in that country. The natives had erected it to sacrifice to the leader who had overcome the Mans.

​K‘ung-ming, much impressed, bowed before the image of the great leader, and said, “Your humble servant received a sacred trust, the protection of the son of the First Ruler. That son, the present king, sent him here to subdue the Mans that the land might be free from peril when he decided to attack Wei and take possession of Wu and thereby restore the glory of the Hans. But the soldiers are ignorant of the country, and some of them have drunk of a poisonous spring so that they have become dumb. Your servant earnestly prays your honoured spirit, out of regard for the kindness and justice of the present king, to reveal your spiritual character and manifest your holiness by safeguarding and assisting the army.”

Having prayed thus, K‘ung-ming left the temple. While seeking some native whom he might question, he saw in the distance, on a hill opposite, an aged man leaning on a staff. He approached, and as he drew nearer K‘ung-ming noted his extraordinary appearance. When he had reached the temple, he asked the venerable visitor to walk in. After the salutations, the old man sat on the stones, and K‘ung-ming opened the conversation with the usual questions. The old gentleman replied, “Sir Minister, I know you well by repute, and am happy to meet you. Many of the Mans owe their lives to you, and all have been deeply impressed by your kindness.”

Then K‘ung-ming returned to the matter nearest his heart, the mystery of the spring. The old man told him the_name of that spring and the symptoms its waters produced, and went on to speak of the other three springs and the malarial exhalations, just as has been related.

“In short, the Mans cannot be conquered,” said K‘ung-ming, when the old man had finished. “And Wu cannot be repressed, nor Wei overcome. And the Hans cannot be restored. So, I fail in the task set me by my king. Would that I might die!”

“Be not so cast down, O Minister,” said the aged one. “I can lead you to a place where you may counteract all this.”

“I would ask for your instruction, Venerable One,” said K‘ung-ming. “What exalted advice have you to confer upon me? I hope you will instruct me.”

“West of this, not far off, is a valley, and twenty li from its entrance is a stream called 'Wanan,' near which there lives a recluse known as the Hermit of the Stream. He has not left the valley these twenty years. Behind his hut there gushes out a spring of water, called the 'Spring of the Medicine of Tranquillity.' This is the antidote to your poison. Bathing in its waters is a cure for skin diseases and for malaria. Moreover, near the hut grows a herb called hsiehyeh yünhsiang, “the garlic-leaved fragrance. Chewing a leaf of this safeguards one from malaria. You can do no better than go to the hut of the recluse forthwith and get these remedies.”

​K‘ung-ming humbly thanked his aged counsellor, and said, “Venerable Sir, I am profoundly affected by your merciful kindness and compassion. May I ask again by what name I may call you?”

The old man rose and entered the temple, saying, “I am the Spirit of this mountain, sent by Fu-po Chiang-chün to guide you.”

As he said this he shouted at the solid rock behind the temple, and it opened of itself and let him in.”

K‘ung-ming’s astonishment was beyond words. He made another obeisance to the Spirit of the temple and went down by the way he had come. Then he returned to his camp.

Next day, bearing incense and gifts, Wang P‘ing and his stricken men went off to the spot which the old man had indicated. They quickly found the valley and followed its narrow road till they came to a small, farm-like enclosure, where tall pines and lofty cypresses, luxuriant bamboos and gorgeous flowers sheltered a few simple huts. An exquisite perfume pervaded the whole place.

K‘ung-ming rejoiced to recognise the spot and at once knocked at the door. A lad answered his knock, and K‘ung-ming was telling his name when the host came out quickly, saying, “Surely my visitor is the Prime Minister of the Han Dynasty?”

K‘ung-ming saw at the door a man with a bamboo comb holding back his hair, grass shoes on his feet, and a robe of white girded in by a black girdle. He had grey eyes and a reddish beard.

“Great Scholar, how did you know who I was?” said K‘ungming.

“How could I not have heard of your expedition to the south?”

He invited K‘ung-ming to enter, and when they had seated themselves in their relative positions as host and guest, K‘ungming said, “My former master, the Emperor, confided to me the care of his son and successor. That son, now Emperor, gave me a command to lead an army to this country, get the Mans on our side and spread our culture among them. But now to my disappointment Mênghuo, the king, has hidden himself in a certain ravine, and some of my men on the way to seek him drank of a certain fountain and are dumb. But last evening the former leader of an expedition, Fu-po Chiangchün, manifested his sacred presence and told me that you, Exalted Sir, had a remedy for this evil, and I pray you of your pity to give me of the potent fluid whereby my soldiers' lives may be saved.”

The recluse replied, “I am only a worthless old man of the wild woods and unworthy of the visit of such as you, O Minister. The water you desire flows out at the back of my cottage and you may take what you will of it.”

​The serving lad then showed Wang P‘ing and his dumb companions to the stream, and he dipped up the waters for them to drink. As soon as they had drunk they coughed up some mucus and could speak. The lad also led the soldiers to a place where they could bathe.

In the cottage the recluse regaled K‘ung-ming with tea made of cypress seeds and a conserve of pine flowers. He also told his guest that in the ravines were many serpents and scorpions, and that the lily flowers blown into the springs by the wind made them unfit to drink. However, if he dug wells he would find good water.

Then K‘ung-ming begged some of the garlic-leaved yün-hsiang as an antidote against malaria. The recluse said the soldiers could pluck as much as they wanted. And so every man put a leaf in his mouth and thus became malaria-proof.

Kʻung-ming, with a low bow then begged to be told the name of his benefactor.

“I am Mênghuo’s eldest brother,” said the recluse, smiling. “My name is Mêngchieh.”

K‘ung-ming started.

“Do not be afraid,” said the recluse said the recluse. “Let me explain. We were three brothers of the same parents, the eldest being myself. Our parents are both dead. My brother Mênghuo, being headstrong and vicious, has never been amenable to culture. I have talked to him many times, but he kept his own course. Finally, under an assumed name, I retired to this spot. I am ashamed for my brother’s rebellion, which has put you, O Minister, to the trouble of making this expedition into a barren country, but it has given me the privilege of seeing you. For my responsibility in this I deserve to die a thousand times, as I own to your face, and I beg your pardon.”

K‘ung-ming sighed, saying, “Now I believe that story of Robber Chih and Liu Hsia Hui; this is the same thing over again. Men renowned for virtue and villainy may come from the same stock.”

“Then he said to his host, “Would you wish me to represent your merits to the Emperor and get you created a prince?”

“How can you think I desire honours or wealth when I am here because of my contempt for all such things?”

K‘ung-ming then wished to make him certain presents, but the recluse would have none of them.

So taking leave of his host K‘ung-ming went back to his camp.

As soon as K‘ung-ming reached camp he set the men digging for water. They dug to a great depth but found none; nor ​were they more successful when they tried other places. They were very discouraged. Then K‘ung-ming in the depths of the night burned incense and prayed to God:—“Unworthy as is thy servant Liang, he has received favour from the Great Hans and now has been ordered to subdue the Mans. Alas! now our water is spent and my men and animals are parched with thirst. If Thy will be to preserve the line of Han then give, I beseech Thee, sweet water, but if their course is run, then may Thy servant and those with him die in this place.”

The morning after this prayer the wells were full of sweet water.

The soldiers' spirits revived with the supply of water, and the army soon advanced by hill paths to the Valley of the Bald Dragon, where they camped.

When Mênghuo heard the news he was greatly taken aback.

“These men do not appear to have suffered either thirst or fever,” said he. “Our springs have lost their power.”

Tossŭ, the king, heard it, but doubted. He and Mênghuo ascended into a high hill whence they could see their enemies. They saw no signs of illness or distress; all went on calmly and quietly in the camps, water carrying and cooking, eating and attending to the cattle. Tossu’s hair stood on end as he looked at them.

“These are not human soldiers,” said he, shivering.

“We two brothers will fight one fierce battle with these men of Shu and die therein,” said Mênghuo, “We cannot wait calmly to be put into bonds.”

“But, O King, if your men should be beaten my whole family will also perish. Let us encourage the men of the ravines. Let us kill bullocks and slaughter horses to feed them and urge them to go through fire and water to rush right up to the camp of the enemy and seize upon victory.”

So there was great feasting before the Mans took the field. Just as this was going on, there arrived one Yang Fêng, lord of twenty-and-one ravines in the west, and he led three legions. Mênghuo rejoiced exceedingly at this unexpected addition to his army and felt sure of victory. So he and Tossŭ went out of their own valley to welcome Yang Fêng, who said, “I have with me three legions of men in iron mail, brave and intrepid men, who can fly over mountains and bound across the peaks; they of themselves are a match for the enemy even if they numbered a hundred legions. And, moreover, my five sons, all trained in arms, are with me, all to help you, O King.”

​The five sons were brought in and presented. They were handsome young fellows, bold and martial looking. Father and sons were entertained at a banquet. Halfway through the feast Yang Fêng proposed a diversion.

“There is but scanty amusement in the field,” said Yang, “and so I have brought along some native singing girls who have been taught fencing and such things. If you care for it, they might give an exhibition.”

The feasters hailed the suggestion with joy, and soon the half score maidens came to the front of the tent. Their hair hung about their shoulders, and they were barefooted. They danced and skipped and went through their performance outside. The guests inside clapped their hands and applauded their skill, and the soldiers joined in the choruses.

Presently, at a signal from their father, two of Yang’s sons bore a goblet to Mênghuo and two others to his brother. They took the cups and were raising them to their lips when Yang shouted a single word of command, and, instantly, the cupbearers had the two Mêngs out of their seats and helpless in their hands. At this, Tossŭ jumped up to run away, but Yang Fêng gripped him, and he was a prisoner too. The Man maidens ranged themselves in a line along the front of the tent so that none dared approach.

“When the hare dies the fox mourns,” said Mênghuo. “One sympathises with one’s own as a rule. We are both chiefs and have been friends. I know not why you should injure me.”

“I had to repay Chuko Liang the Minister for his compassion on me and mine, and there was no way till you rebelled. Why should I not offer up a rebel in propitiation?”

Leaving Mênghuo and his brother and Tossŭ in the hands of Yang Fêng, the Man warriors dispersed, each man returning to his own valley. Liu Fêng then took the prisoners to the camp of Shu, where he bowed at the tent door, saying, “I and my sons and the sons of my brother are grateful to you for much kindness, wherefore we bring to you as an offering the persons of these rebels.”

K‘ung-ming rewarded Yang and bade them bring forward the king.

“This time are you prepared to yield?” said the minister.

“It is not your ability, but the treachery of my own people that has brought me to this. If you wish to slay, slay; but I will not yield.”

“You know you were the cause of my men entering into a waterless land, where there were those four evil fountains, and yet my soldiers were not poisoned and came to no harm. Does it not seem to you like evidence of a superior protecting power? Why will you follow this misguided road and always be obstinate?”

​Mênghuo replied, “My fathers have long held the Silver Pit Hills, and the three rivers are their ramparts. If you can take that stronghold then will I and my heirs for ever acknowledge your power and yield.”

“I am going to liberate you once more,” said K‘ung-ming, “and you may put your army in order if you will and fight a decisive battle. But after that, if you are my prisoner and are still refractory and unsubmissive, I shall have to exterminate your whole family.”

He ordered the lictors to loose the prisoner’s bonds and let him go. After he had gone, the other two, the king’s brother and Tossŭ, were led in and they also received their liberty. They were given wine and food, but they were confused and could not look K‘ung-ming in the face. They were given horses to travel on.

The next chapter will tell how Mênghuo reorganised his army and whose was the victory.