“BEAUTIFUL BEARD” RIDES ON A SOLITARY JOURNEY:
AND SLAYS SIX MEN AT FIVE PASSES.
Now of all the captains in Tsʻao Tsʻao’s army, the only one friendly
toward Kuan Yü, with the exception of Chang Liao, was Hsü Huang. The
others treated him with respect, except Tsʻai Yang who was decidedly
inimical. So this Tsʻai was ready to pursue and capture him as soon as
he heard of his departure. But Tsʻao accepted his going as natural. “He
does not forget his old leader and he was perfectly open in all his
actions. He is a gentleman and you would do well to follow his
example.”
So he bade the would-be pursuer begone and say no more about pursuit.
“You were exceedingly good to Kuan Yü,” said Chʻêng Yü, “but he went
off very rudely. He certainly left a screed behind with his reasons,
but he affronted you and that is no light matter. Now to let him join
Yüan Shao is to add wings to a tiger. You had better catch him and put
him to death so as to guard against future evil.”
Tsʻao replied, “But he had my promise and can I break my word? Each has
his master. Do not pursue.” But he said to Chang Liao, “He has rejected
all I gave him, so bribes were powerless with him in whatever shape. I
have the greatest respect for such as he. He has not yet gone far and I
will try to strengthen his attachment to me and make one appeal to
sentiment. Ride after him and beg him to stop till I can come up and
bid farewell and offer him a sum of money for his expenses and a
fighting robe, that he may remember me kindly in after days.”
So Chang rode out quite alone; Tsʻao followed him leisurely with an
escort of a score or so.
Now the steed that Kuan Yü rode was “Red Hare” and he was very fast. No
one could have come up with him but that there was the ladies’ carriage
to escort and so “Red Hare” had to be held in and go slow. Suddenly
Kuan Yü heard a shout behind him, a voice crying, “Go slowly,
Yün-chʻang.”
He turned and made out the person to be Chang Liao. Ordering the
pushers of the carriage to press on along the high road, he reined in
his steed, held Black Dragon ready for a stroke and waited for Chang
Liao to come up.
“Of course you have come to take me back, Wên-yüan?” said he.
“No; the Minister, seeing that you are going a long journey, wishes to
see you on your way and told me to hasten forward and beg you to wait
till he can come up. That is the only thing.”
“Seeing that he is coming along with mailed men I shall fight to the
very last,” said Kuan Yü and he took up his position on a bridge where
he waited the approach of the party, who advanced quickly. Four of
Tsʻao Tsʻao’s captains followed close. Seeing Kuan Yü was ready to
fight, Tsʻao ordered his escort to open out in two lines and then it
was seen they carried no arms. This relieved his mind; for it proved to
Kuan Yü they meant no attack.
“Why do you go in such haste, Yün-chʻang?” asked Tsʻao.
Kuan Yü inclined his head but did not dismount.
“I informed you in writing that since my lord was in Hopei I had to
leave at once. I went to your palace again and again but was refused
admittance. So I wrote a letter of farewell, sealed up the treasure,
resigned my marquis seal and left everything for you. I hope you recall
the promise you once made me.”
Tsʻao replied, “My desire is to keep my troth with all men; I cannot go
back on my word. However, you may find the journey expensive and
therefore I have here prepared a sum of money to help you.”
Then from horseback he held out a packet of gold.
“I have sufficient left from your former bounty; keep that for presents
to your soldiers.”
“Why should you refuse this? It is but an insignificant return for
great services.”
“My services have been all trifling, not worth mentioning.”
“Really, Yün-chʻang, you are the most high-principled of men. I am very
sorry my luck is too poor to retain you at my side. Pray accept just
this robe to show you I am not quite ungrateful,” said Tsʻao, and one
of his captains, dismounting, held up a silken coat in both hands. Kuan
Yü even still fearful of what might happen, would not dismount, but he
reached down his sword and took the robe on its point. Then he threw it
over his shoulders and turned to thank the giver saying, “I thank you,
Sir Minister, for the robe and trust we shall meet again.”
So saying he went down from the bridge and bore away to the north.
“He is a very rude man,” said Hsü Chʻu, who was of the escort. “Why do
you not take him prisoner?”
Tsʻao replied, “He was absolutely alone facing scores of us; he was
justified in being suspicious. But my word has gone forth and he is not
to be pursued.”
Tsʻao and his escort returned, the Minister very sad when he thought of
the man who had gone.
But here we need say nothing more of Tsʻao’s return. Kuan Yü went down
from the bridge and started in the wake of the carriage carrying the
two ladies, which should have gone about thirty li while this interview
had been going on. He could see no signs of it and rode hither and
thither looking on all sides.
Presently he heard some one shouting from a hill, calling him by name
to halt. He saw a youth wearing a yellow turban and dressed in a silk
robe. He held a spear in his hand and was mounted on a horse from the
neck of which dangled a bloody head. Behind him were a hundred or so
men on foot and they advanced quickly.
“Who are you?” asked Kuan Yü.
The young man dropped his spear, dismounted and made a low bow. Kuan
feared this was some ruse so he only checked his horse and gripped his
sword the more firmly, saying, “Sir Swashbuckler, I desire you to tell
me your name.”
“My family name is Liao and I am known as Liao Hua or Liao Yüan-chien.
I belong to a Hsiangyang family. Since these troubled times began I
have been an outlaw among the rivers and lakes and I and my comrades
have lived by plunder. We are about five hundred in all. By chance my
friend Tu Yüan came across two ladies in a carriage just now and, quite
wrongly, he took them prisoners and brought them to the hold in the
hills. I questioned the servants and so found out who they were and who
was escorting them. So I wished them to be set free to pursue their
journey. My friend opposed this and spoke so ill-mannerly that I killed
him. And here is his head. I pray you to pardon me.”
“Where are the two ladies?”
“They are among the hills,” replied Liao.
“Bring them down here, at once,” said Kuan.
In a short time a party of the brigands pushed the carriage down the
hill and the ladies sat there before him.
Then Kuan Yü dismounted, laid aside his sword and stood respectfully
before them with his arms crossed.
“Sisters, have you been alarmed?” asked he.
They replied, “We should have suffered at the hands of Tu Yüan had it
not been for Liao Hua.”
“How did Liao Hua come to save the ladies?” asked Kuan of those who
stood by.
They said, “Tu carried off the ladies and proposed that he and Liao Hua
should have one each as wife. But Liao Hua had found out they were of
gentle birth and worthy, and was for treating them with respect. When
Tu disagreed Liao slew him.”
Hearing this Kuan Yü bowed to Liao Hua and thanked him. Liao then
wanted to join himself and his troop to Kuan Yü, but the latter, seeing
he was a Yellow Turban, would have nothing to do with him. So he simply
thanked him for his kindness to the ladies. Liao offered some presents
but these were also declined.
So Liao Hua took his leave and presently disappeared in a valley among
the hills. Kuan Yü told his sisters the story of his interview with
Tsʻao and the gift of a robe and then he urged the carriage on its way.
Towards dark they came to a farm where they would rest. The farmer, an
old greybeard, came out to welcome the party and asked who they were.
Kuan Yü described himself as the brother of Liu Pei, and said his name
was Kuan.
“Surely you are no other than the slayer of Yen Liang and Wên Chʻou,”
said the venerable host.
“That is so,” replied Kuan Yü.
“Come in,” said the old man, joyfully.
“My two sisters-in-law are in the carriage” said Kuan Yü, “will you let
your women-folk go out to receive them?”
As Kuan Yü remained standing there the host asked him to be seated, but
he would not sit while the women were present and remained standing in
a respectful attitude till the old man’s wife had returned and ushered
the ladies into the inner apartments. Then the old man set to the
entertainment of his guest in the guest hall. Kuan Yü asked his name.
He replied, “I am called Hu Hua. In the days of the Emperor Huan I was
an officer of the Court but I resigned and retired into private life. I
have a son with the Prefect of Yungyang (in Szechuan) and if you should
be going that way, General, I should like to send him a letter by you.”
Kuan Yü said he would take the letter. Next day, after an early meal,
the ladies got into their carriage, the host handed his letter to Kuan
Yü, and the little party once more took the road. They went toward
Loyang.
Presently they approached a pass known as the Tungling Pass, guarded by
one Kʻung Hsiu and half a company. When the soldiers saw a carriage
being pushed toward the pass they ran to tell their commander, who came
out to accost the travellers. Kuan Yü dismounted and returned the
officer’s salute and the latter said, “Whither are you going?”
“I have left the Minister to go into Hopei to find my brother.”
“But Yüan Shao is my master’s rival. You have authority from him to go
thither?”
“I left hurriedly and could not get it.”
“If you have no authority you must wait while I send to request
orders.”
“To remain while you send and receive an answer will delay me greatly,”
said Kuan.
“I must stand by my instructions; that is the only thing to do,” said
Kʻung.
“Then you refuse to let me pass?”
“If you want to go through leave the family as a gage.”
At this Kuan Yü got very angry and made to cut at the officer on the
spot, but he withdrew into the gate and beat the drums for an attack.
Thereupon the soldiers armed themselves, mounted and came down to
oppose the passage, crying, “Dare you go through, eh?”
The carriage was sent off to a safe distance and then Kuan Yü rode at
full speed directly at the commander of the guard, who set his spear
and came to meet him. The two steeds met and the men engaged, but at
the first stroke of Black Dragon the commander of the gate fell to the
earth dead. His men fled.
“Soldiers, do not flee!” cried Kuan Yü. “I killed him because I could
do no otherwise. I have nothing against you, but I would ask you to
tell the Minister how this thing came to pass, that he wished to kill
me and so I slew him in self-defence.”
The men bowed before him and Kuan Yü, with the carriage, passed through
the gates and they continued their way to Loyang. But one of the guards
of the pass went quickly in advance and informed the Prefect of Loyang,
Han Fu, of the slaughter of Kʻung Hsiu. Wherefore Han Fu assembled his
officers to take counsel. Mêng Tʻan, one of his captains, said, “This
Kuan Yü must be a fugitive or he would have a safe-conduct. Our only
course is to stop him or we shall incur blame.”
“The man is fierce and brave. Remember the fate of Yen and Wên. It
seems vain to oppose him by force and so we must think out some trap
for him,” said Han Fu.
“I have a ruse ready,” said Mêng Tʻan. “I will close the gate with
“deerhorns” (chevaux de frise) and I will go to fight with him. I will
engage and then flee, and you can shoot him from an ambush along the
road. If we can get him and his party and send them prisoners to the
capital we ought to be well rewarded.”
This course was determined upon and soon they heard that Kuan Yü was
approaching. Han Fu strung his bow and filled his quiver with arrows
and with one company took up position along the pass. Then as the party
approached Han Fu said, “Who is the traveller who comes?”
Kuan Yü bowed low and said, “He is a certain Kuan, Marquis of
Hanshoutʻing, and he wishes to go through the pass.”
“Have you a letter from the Minister?”
“In the hurry of departure I did not get any.”
“My special orders from him are to hold this pass and make examination
of all spies that may go to and fro. Any person without an authority
must be a fugitive.”
Then Kuan Yü began to be angry, and he told them what had happened to
Kʻung Hsiu. “Do you also seek death?” asked Kuan.
“Who will capture him for me?” cried Han Fu, and Mêng Tʻan offered
himself. He rode out, whirling his double swords and made straight for
Kuan Yü.
Kuan Yü sent back the carriage out of danger and then rode toward Mêng.
They engaged, but very soon Mêng turned his steed and fled. Kuan Yü
pursued. Mêng, intent only on leading his enemy toward the ambush, took
no account of the speed of “Red Hare.” Very soon he was caught up and a
stroke of the mighty sword cut him in two pieces. Then Kuan Yü stopped
and turned back. The archers in the gate shot their hardest and though
it was a long way off one of them lodged an arrow in his left arm. He
pulled it out with his teeth but the blood streamed down as he rode
toward the Prefect, Han Fu. The men scattered. Kuan Yü rode straight at
his next victim. He raised his sword and made an oblique cut which
sliced off the head and shoulder of his opponent.
Then he drove off the soldiers and returned to escort the carriage. He
bound up his wound, and, fearing lest any one might take advantage of
his weakness, he made no long halts on the road but hurried toward
Ishui Pass.
The warden of this pass was Pien Hsi of Pingchou, a warrior whose
weapon was a comet-hammer. He had been a Yellow Turban and had gone
over to Tsʻao, who had given him this post. As soon as he heard of the
coming of the redoubtable warrior he cudgelled his brains for a ruse to
use against him. He decided upon an ambush. In a temple at the pass he
placed two hundred “axe and sword” men. He reckoned on enticing Kuan to
the temple for refreshment and when he let fall a cup as signal the
hidden men would rush out.
All being thus arranged and ready, he went out to welcome Kuan Yü in
friendly guise and he dismounted at his coming. Pien Hsi began very
amiably.
“Your name, General, makes the very earth tremble and every one looks
up to you. This return to the Imperial Uncle proves you to be noble and
true.”
Kuan Yü in reply told him the story of the men he had slain. Hsi
replied, “You slew them; that is well. When I see the Minister I will
explain to him the inner reasons for these acts.”
Kuan Yü thought he had found a friend and so mounted and rode through
the pass. When he came to the temple a number of priests came out to
meet him with clanging bells.
This temple, that of a Guardian of the State, had a courtyard in which
the Emperor Ming had burned incense. In the temple were thirty priests
and among these there happened to be one who came from the same village
as Kuan Yü. His religious name was Pʻu-ching. Hearing who the visitor
was, he came forward to speak with him.
“General,” said he, “it is many a long year since you left Putung.”
“Yes,” said Kuan Yü, “nearly twenty years.”
“Do you recognise this poor priest?”
“I left the village many years ago; I do not recognise you.”
“My house and yours were only separated by a rivulet,” said the priest.
Now Pien Hsi, seeing the priest holding forth about village matters,
thought he would blab about the ambush, so he bade him be silent.
“I want to invite the General to a feast. You priest fellows seem to
have a lot to say,” said Pien.
“Not too much,” said Kuan Yü. “Naturally when fellow villagers meet
they talk of old times.”
Pʻu-ching invited the visitor into the guest room to take tea, but Kuan
Yü said, “The two ladies are out there in the carriage; they ought to
have some first.”
So the priest bade them take some tea to the ladies and then he led
Kuan Yü within, at the same time lifting the priest knife which he wore
at his side and looking meaningly at Kuan Yü. The latter understood and
told his people to bring along his weapon and keep close at his side.
When Pien Hsi invited Kuan Yü to go into the Hall of the Law for some
refreshment, Kuan Yü turned to him, saying, “Is this invitation with
good intention or evil?”
His host was so taken aback that he could make no reply, and then Kuan
Yü saw that many armed men were concealed behind the arras. Then he
shouted loudly at Pien Hsi, saying, “What means this? I thought you an
honourable man. How dare you?”
The traitor saw that his plot had failed and called to the assassins to
come out and fall to, but Kuan Yü had a short sword in his hand and
slashed at any one who came near. So they scattered. Their commander
ran down the hall and tried to escape among the side buildings, but
Kuan Yü threw aside the short sword, took up Black Dragon and went
after Pien Hsi. The latter was trying to get into position to throw his
comet-hammer, but Kuan Yü cut the cord and the weapon was useless. He
followed Pien in and out and soon caught up with him. Then with one
blow he cut him in halves.
The fight over he sought the two ladies, who were surrounded by
soldiers. These fled at sight of the terrible warrior. Seeking out the
priest, his fellow countryman, he thanked him for the timely warning
which had saved him from death.
“I cannot remain here after this,” said Pʻu-ching. “I shall pack up my
few garments and my alms bowl and take to the road, vague in my
wanderings as the clouds in the sky. But we shall meet again and till
then take care of yourself.”
Then Kuan Yü took leave and retook the road to Yungyang. The Prefect of
this city was named Wang Chih, and he was related to Han Fu by
marriage. Hearing of the death of his relative he set about a scheme to
kill Kuan Yü secretly. He sent men to guard the city gates and, when he
heard that Kuan Yü approached, he went himself and received him with a
smiling countenance and bade him welcome. Kuan Yü told him the object
of his journey.
“You, General, have been able to get some exercise on the road, but the
ladies in their carriage must be cramped and fatigued. I pray you to
come into the city and all of you remain the night in the official
travellers’ quarters. To-morrow you can set forth again.”
The offer was tempting and his host seemed in earnest so the two ladies
went into the city, where they found everything very comfortably
prepared for them. And, though Kuan Yü declined the Prefect’s
invitations to a banquet, refreshments for the travellers were sent to
their lodgings. Kuan Yü was fatigued from the trials of the journey and
as soon as the evening meal was over he bade the ladies retire to rest
while he sat down in the main room, quite alone, for he bade all to get
repose while they could. His horse was given a good feed for once. He
sat with his armour loosened in order to be more at ease.
Now the Prefect had a secretary named Hu Pan to whom he had entrusted
the arrangements for the destruction of his guest. Said he, “This Kuan
is a traitor to the Minister and a fugitive. On the road he has
murdered several Commanders of Passes and is guilty of serious crimes.
But he is too strong and valiant for any ordinary soldier to overcome.
So this evening a whole company of men will surround his lodging, each
one armed with a torch, and we will burn him. They will start the fire
about midnight. Every one of the party will perish. I will come with a
force to stand by and assist if necessary.”
These orders received, Hu Pan passed them on to the men, who began
secretly to prepare dry wood and other combustibles which they piled up
at the gate of the rest-house. Hu Pan thought within him that he would
like to know what manner of man was this Kuan Yü, whose fame had spread
so far, so he determined to get a peep at him. He went to the
rest-house and enquired where Kuan Yü was.
“The General is the man in the main hall reading,” was the reply.
Hu Pan noiselessly made his way to the outside of the room and peeped
in. He saw the famous warrior stroking his beard with his left hand
while he read by the light of a lamp placed on a low table. An
involuntary exclamation of wonder escaped at the majesty of the figure.
“Really a god!” he sighed.
“Who is there?” suddenly asked the reader at the sound.
Hu Pan entered and said he was the Prefect’s secretary.
“Surely you are the son of Hu Hua, who lives outside Hsütu,” said Kuan.
“I am he,” replied Hu Pan.
Then Kuan Yü called up his followers and bade them look among the
baggage for the letter, which they brought. Kuan Yü handed it to the
secretary, who read it and then breathed long, saying, “I very nearly
caused the death of a good man.”
Then he betrayed the whole plot. “This Wang is a wicked man, who wanted
to kill you. At this moment you are surrounded and at the third watch
they will set fire to this place. Now I will go and open the city gates
while you hastily prepare for flight.”
Kuan Yü was greatly surprised, but he quickly buckled up his armour,
got his steed ready, roused the two ladies and put them into their
carriage. Then they left the rest-house and as they passed out they saw
the soldiers all about them, each with a torch. The party hastened to
the outskirts of the city and found the gate already open and they lost
no time in getting clear of the city. Hu Pan returned to give orders to
fire the rest house.
The fugitives pressed on but before long they saw lights coming up
behind them and Wang Chih called out to them to stop. Kuan Yü reined in
his horse and began to abuse him.
“Worthless fellow! What had you against me that you wished to burn me
to death?”
Wang Chih whipped up his steed and set his spear, but Kuan Yü cut him
through with the short sword he wore at his side and scattered his
followers.
Then the carriage pushed on. Kuan Yü’s heart was filled with gratitude
to Hu Pan. When they drew near Huachou some one told Liu Yen, who rode
out to welcome him. Kuan Yü did not dismount but bowed from horseback,
saying, “Have you been quite well since we parted?”
“Whither are you going, Sir?” replied Liu Yen.
“I have left the Minister and am on my way to find my brother.”
“Yüan-tê is with Yüan Shao, who is at enmity with the Minister. How can
you be allowed to go to him?” asked Liu Yen.
“That matter was settled long ago.”
“The Yellow River ferry is an important point and is guarded by a
lieutenant of Hsiahou Tun; he will not let you cross.”
“But suppose then you provide boats for me?”
“Though there are boats I dare not give them to you.”
“Well, formerly I slew Yen Liang and Wên Chʻou and saved you from a
grave danger. Now you refuse me a ferry boat!”
“I am afraid Hsiahou will know of it and make it a fault against me.”
Kuan Yü perceived that no help was to be expected from this man so he
pushed on and presently reached the ferry. There the commander of the
guard, Chʻin Chʻi, came out to question him.
“I am one Kuan, Marquis of Hanshoutʻing.”
“Whither are you bound?”
“I go to Hopei to seek my brother, Liu Yüan-tê, and I respectfully ask
you to grant me a passage over the river.”
“Where is the authority of the Minister?”
“I am not on a mission from the Minister so why should I have such an
authority?”
“I have orders from my chief to guard the ferry and you will not cross;
even if you grew wings you should not fly over.”
Kuan Yü’s choler arose. “Do you know that I have been the death of all
those who have hitherto tried to stop me?” said he.
“You have only slain a few officers of no rank or reputation; but you
dare not kill me.”
“Where would you stand beside Yen Liang and Wên Chʻou?” asked Kuan.
Then Chʻin Chʻi grew angry and he loosed his rein. Sword in hand he
came at a gallop. The two met, but in the first encounter Chʻin Chʻi’s
head was swept off by the terrible Black Dragon.
“He who opposed me is dead; you others need not be afraid,” cried Kuan
Yü. “Be quick and prepare me a boat.”
The boat was soon at the landing and the two women stepped on board,
followed by Kuan Yü. They crossed, and were then in the country of Yüan
Shao. In the course of his journey to this point Kuan Yü had forced
five passes and slain six captains.
His seal hung up, the treasury locked, his courtly mansion left,
He journeyed toward his brother dear, too long from his side reft.
The horse he rode was famed for speed as for endurance great,
His good sword made a way for him and opened every gate.
His loyalty and truth forth stand, a pattern unto all,
His valour would frighten rushing streams and make high mountains
fall.
Alone he travelled lustily, ’twas death to meet his blade,
He has been themed by myriads, his glory ne’er will fade.
“I did not willingly slay a single one of them,” mused Kuan Yü as he
rode along. “There was no help for it. Nevertheless when Tsʻao hears of
it he will regard me as ungrateful for his bounty.”
Before long he saw a rider on the road who soon hailed him and proved
to be Sun Chʻien.
“I have never heard a word from you since we lost sight of each other
at Junan; how have you fared?” said Kuan Yü.
“After your departure the city fell. I was sent to Yüan Shao to try to
make peace with him and succeeded, so that he invited your brother to
go to him and share in the deliberations for an attack on Tsʻao Tsʻao.
But to my disgust the leaders of Yüan Shao’s army showed great jealousy
of each other so that one got into gaol, another was degraded and
others quarrelled. Then Yüan Shao vacillated and hesitated, so that
your brother and I consulted how we might get away from them all. Now
the Uncle is at Junan with Liu Pʻi and, thinking you could not know
that and might suffer some harm if you unwillingly went to Yüan Shao, I
have come to warn you. It is good fortune to find you like this. Now we
can hasten to Junan and you will meet your brother.”
Kuan Yü took Sun Chʻien to make his bow to the ladies, who asked after
his adventures and he told them of the risks Liu Pei had run from Yüan
Shao’s sudden bursts of anger. Now, however, he was out of his way and
safe at Junan where they would meet him.
They covered their faces and wept at the recital of his dangers. Then
the party no longer travelled north but took the road toward Junan. Not
long after a great cloud of dust was noticed behind them and they
presently made out a squadron of horsemen. These were led by Hsiahou
Tun, who shouted out to Kuan Yü to stop.
One by one the pass commanders stopped his progress and were slain,
The river crossed, another army comes and he must fight again.
How finally Kuan Yü escaped death will appear in the succeeding
chapter.