THE “LITTLE CHIEF OF THE FEUDAL LORDS” SLAYS YÜ CHI:
THE “BLUE-EYED BOY” LAYS HOLD ON CHIANGTUNG.
We may tell here how Sun Tsʻê gradually became supreme on the east of
the river. In the fourth year of the period “Established Peace,” [12]
he took Luchiang by the defeat of the Prefect Liu Hsün. He despatched
Yu Fan with a despatch to the Prefect of Yuchang, [13] Hua Hsin, and he
surrendered. Thence his renown increased and he boldly sent a memorial
on his military successes to the Emperor by the hand of Chang Hung.
Tsʻao Tsʻao saw in him a powerful rival and said he was a lion
difficult to contend with. So he betrothed his niece, daughter of Tsʻao
Jên, to Sun Kʻuang, the youngest brother of Sun Tsʻê, thus connecting
the two families by marriage. He also retained Chang Hung near him in
the capital.
Then Sun Tsʻê sought the title of Ta Ssŭ-ma, or Minister of War, one of
the highest offices of State, but Tsʻao Tsʻao prevented the attainment
of this ambition, and Sun Tsʻê keenly resented it. Henceforward his
thoughts turned toward an attack on Tsʻao Tsʻao.
About this time the Prefect of Wuchün sent a secret letter to the
capital to Tsʻao Tsʻao, saying that Sun Tsʻê was a turbulent fellow of
the Hsiang Chi type and the government ought, under the appearance of
showing favour to him, to recall him to the capital for he was a danger
in the provinces. But the bearer of this letter was captured on the
Yangtse River and sent to Sun Tsʻê, who immediately put him to death.
Then he treacherously sent to ask the author of the letter, Hsü Kung by
name, to come and consult over some affair. The unsuspecting man came.
Sun Tsʻê produced the letter, saying, “So you wish to send me to the
land of the dead, eh?” and thereupon the executioners came in and
strangled him. The family of the victim scattered, but three of his
clients determined to avenge him if only they could find some means of
attacking Sun.
Their chance came in the hunting field. One day Sun went hunting in the
hills to the west of Tantʻu. A stag was started and Sun pressed after
it at topmost speed and followed it deep into the forest. Presently he
came upon three armed men standing among the trees. Rather surprised to
see them there he reined in and asked who they were.
“We belong to Han Tang’s army and are shooting deer,” was the reply.
So Sun Tsʻê shook his bridle to proceed. But just as he did so one of
the men thrust at him with a spear and wounded his thigh. Sun drew the
sword at his side, dashed forward and cut down the aggressor. The blade
of his sword suddenly fell to the ground, only the hilt remaining in
his hand. Then one of the assassins drew his bow and an arrow wounded
Sun in the cheek. He plucked out the arrow and shot at the offender,
who fell, but the other two attacked him furiously with their spears,
shouting, “We are Hsü Kung’s men and his avengers!”
Sun Tsʻê then understood. But he had no weapons save his bow against
them. He tried to draw off, keeping them at bay by striking with his
bow, but the fight was getting too much for him and both he and his
steed were wounded in several places. However, just at the critical
moment, some of his own men came up and they made short work of the
remaining two avengers.
But their lord was in a sorry plight. His face was streaming with blood
and some of the wounds were very severe. They tore up his robe and
therewith bound up his wounds and they carried him home.
A poem in praise of the three avengers says:—
O Sun Tsʻê was a warrior and a stranger he to fear,
But he was basely murdered while hunting of the deer.
Yet were they leal who slew him, to avenge a murdered lord,
Self immolated like Yü-jang, they dreaded not the sword.
Badly wounded, Sun Tsʻê was borne to his home. They sent to call the
famous physician, Hua Tʻo, but he was far away and could not be found.
However, a disciple of his came and the wounded man was committed to
his care.
“The arrowheads were poisoned,” said the physician, “and the poison has
penetrated deep. It will take a hundred days of perfect repose before
danger will be past. But if you give way to passion or anger the wounds
will not heal.”
Sun’s temperament was hasty and impatient and the prospect of such a
slow recovery was very distasteful. However, he remained quiet for some
twenty of the hundred days. Then came a messenger from the capital and
he insisted on seeing and questioning him.
“Tsʻao Tsʻao fears you, my lord, very greatly,” said the messenger,
“and his advisers have exceeding respect for you; all except Kuo Chia.”
“What did he say?” asked the sick chieftain.
The messenger remained silent, which only irritated his master and
caused him to demand to be told. So the messenger had to speak the
truth. He said, “The fact is Kuo Chia told Tsʻao Tsʻao that he need not
fear you, that you were frivolous and unready, impulsive and shallow,
just a stupid swaggerer who would one day come to his death at the
hands of some mean person.”
This provoked the sick man beyond endurance.
“How dare he say this of me, the fool!” cried Sun Tsʻê. “I will take
the capital from Tsʻao, I swear.”
It was no more a question of repose. Ill as he was he wanted to begin
preparations for an expedition at once. They remonstrated with him,
reminded him of the physician’s orders and urged him to rest.
“You are risking your priceless self in a moment’s anger,” said Chang
Chao.
Then arrived Chʻên Chên, the messenger from Yüan Shao, and Sun would
have him brought in. He said. “My master wishes to ally himself with Wu
in an attack on Tsʻao Tsʻao.”
Such a proposal was just after Sun’s heart. At once he called a great
meeting of his officers in the wall tower and prepared a banquet in
honour of the messenger. While this was in progress he noticed many of
his captains whispering to each other and they all began to go down
from the banquet chamber. He could not understand this and enquired of
the attendants near him what it meant. They told him that Saint Yü had
just gone by and the officers had gone down to pay their respects to
him. Sun Tsʻê rose from his place and went and leaned over the railing
to look at the man. He saw a Taoist priest in snowy garb leaning on his
staff in the middle of the road, while the crowd about him burnt
incense and made obeisance.
“What wizard fellow is this? Bring him here!” said Sun.
“This is Yü Chi,” said the attendants. “He lives in the east and goes
to and fro distributing charms and draughts. He has cured many people
as everybody will tell you, and they say he is a saint. He must not be
profaned.”
This only angered Sun the more and he told them to arrest the man at
once or disobey at their peril. So there being no help for it they went
down into the road and hustled the saint up the steps.
“You madman! How dare you incite men to evil?” said Sun Tsʻê.
“I am but a poor priest of the Lanyeh Palace. More than half a century
ago, when gathering simples in the woods, I found near the Chüyang
Spring a book called “The Way of Peace.” It contains a hundred and more
chapters and taught me how to cure the diseases of men. With this in my
possession I had only one thing to do, to devote myself to spreading
its teachings and saving mankind. I have never taken any thing from the
people. Can you say I incite men to evil deeds?”
“You say you take nothing; whence came your clothes and your food? The
fact is you are one of the Yellow Turban kidney and you will work
mischief if you are left alive.” “Take him away and put him to death,”
continued he to his attendants.
Chang Chao interceded, “The Taoist has been here in the east these many
years. He has never done any harm and does not deserve death or
punishment.”
“I tell you I will kill these wizard fellows just as I would cattle.”
The officials in a body interceded, even the guest of honour Chʻên
Chên, but in vain; Sun Tsʻê refused to be placated. He ordered the
Taoist to be imprisoned.
The banquet came to an end and the messenger retired to his lodging.
Sun Tsʻê also returned to his palace.
His treatment of the Taoist Holy Man was the theme of general
conversation and soon reached the ears of his mother. She sent for her
son to the ladies’ apartments and said to him, “They tell me you have
put the Taoist in bonds. He has cured many sick people and the common
folk hold him in great reverence. Do not harm him.”
“He is simply a wizard who upsets the multitude with his spells and
craft. He must be put to death,” replied Tsʻê.
She entreated him to stay his hand, but he was obstinate. “Do not heed
the gossip of the street, mother,” said he. “I must be judge of these
matters.”
However, he sent to the prison for the Taoist in order to interrogate
him. Now the gaolers having a great respect for Yü Chi and faith in his
powers were very indulgent to him and did not keep him in the collar.
However when Tsʻê sent for him he went with collar and fetters all
complete.
Tsʻê had heard of their indulgence and punished the gaolers so that the
prisoner thereafter lay in constant torture. Chang Chao and some
others, moved by pity, made a petition which they humbly presented and
they offered to become surety for him.
Sun Tsʻê said to them, “Gentlemen, you are all great scholars, but why
do you not understand reason? Formerly in Chiaochou was a certain
Governor Chang Ching, who was deluded by these vicious doctrines into
beating drums, twanging lyres, burning incense and such things. He wore
a red turban and represented himself as able to ensure victory to an
army. But he was slain by the enemy. There is nothing in all this, only
none of you will see it. I am going to put this fellow to death in
order to stop the spread of this pernicious doctrine.”
Lü Fan interposed, “I know very well this Yü Chi can control the
weather. It is very dry just now, why not make him pray for rain as an
amercement?”
“We will see what sort of witchcraft he is equal to,” said Sun Tsʻê.
Whereupon he had the prisoner brought in, loosed his fetters and sent
him up to an altar to intercede for rain.
The docile Taoist prepared to do as he was bidden. He first bathed
himself, then dressed himself in clean garments. After that he bound
his limbs with a cord and lay down in the fierce heat of the sun. The
people came in crowds to look on.
Said he, “I will pray for three feet of refreshing rain for the benefit
of the people, nevertheless I shall not escape death thereby.”
The people said, “But if your prayer be efficacious our lord must
believe in your powers.”
“The day of fate has come for me and there is no escape.”
Presently Sun Tsʻê came near the altar and announced that if rain had
not fallen by noon he would burn the priest. And to confirm this he
bade them prepare the pyre.
As it neared noon a strong wind sprang up and the clouds gathered from
all quarters. But there was no rain.
“It is near noon,” said Sun Tsʻê. “Clouds are of no account without
rain. He is only an impostor.”
He bade his attendants lay the priest on the pyre and pile wood around
him and apply the torch. Fanned by the gale the flames rose rapidly.
Then appeared in the sky above a wreath of black vapour followed by
roaring thunder and vivid lightning, peal on peal and flash on flash.
And the rain fell in a perfect deluge. In a short time the streets
became rivers and torrents. It was indeed a three feet fall.
Yü Chi, who was still lying upon the pile of firewood, cried in a loud
voice, “O clouds, cease thy rain, and let the glorious sun appear!”
Thereupon officials and people helped the priest down, loosened the
cord that bound him and bowed before him in gratitude for the rain.
But Sun Tsʻê boiled with rage at seeing his officers and the people
gathered in groups and kneeling in the water regardless of the damage
to their clothing.
“Rain or shine are as nature appoints them and the wizard has happened
to hit upon a moment of change; what are you making all this fuss
about?” cried he.
Then he drew his sword and told the attendants to smite the Taoist
therewith. They all besought him to hold his hand.
“You want to follow Yü Chi in rebellion, I suppose,” cried Sun Tsʻê.
The officers, now thoroughly cowed by the rage of their lord, were
silent and showed no opposition when the executioners seized the
unhappy Taoist and beheaded him.
They saw just a wreath of black smoke drift away to the north-east
where lay the Langyeh Mountains.
The corpse was exposed in the market place as a warning to enchanters
and wizards and such people. That night there came a very violent storm
and when it calmed down at daylight there was no trace of the body. The
guards reported this and Sun Tsʻê in his wrath sentenced them to death.
But as he did so he saw Yü Chi calmly walking toward him as if he were
still alive. He drew his sword and darted forward to strike at the
wraith, but he fainted and fell to the ground.
They carried him to his chamber and in a short time he recovered
consciousness. His mother, the Lady Wu, came to visit him and said, “My
son, you have done wrong to slay the holy one and this is your
retribution.”
“Mother, when I was a boy I went with my father to the wars, where men
are cut down as one cuts hempen stalks. There is not much retribution
about such doings. I have put this fellow to death and so checked a
great evil. Where does retribution come in?”
“This comes of want of faith,” she replied. “Now you must avert the
evil by meritorious deeds.”
“My fate depends on Heaven: wizards can do me no harm, so why avert
anything?”
His mother saw that it was useless to try persuasion, but she told his
attendants to do some good deeds secretly whereby the evil should be
turned aside.
That night about the third watch, as Sun Tsʻê lay in his chamber, he
suddenly felt a chill breeze, which seemed to extinguish the lamps for
a moment, although they soon brightened again, and he saw in the lamp
light the form of Yü Chi standing near his bed.
Sun said, “I am the sworn foe of witchcraft and I will purge the world
of all such as deal in magic. You are a spirit and how dare you
approach me?”
Reaching down a sword that hung at the head of his bed he hurled it at
the phantom, which then disappeared. When his mother heard this story
her grief redoubled. Sun Tsʻê, ill as he was, did his utmost to
reassure his mother.
She said, “The Holy One says, ‘How abundantly do spiritual beings
display the powers that belong to them!’ and ‘Prayer has been made to
the spirits of the upper and lower worlds.’ You must have faith. You
sinned in putting Master Yü to death and retribution is sure. I have
already sent to have sacrifices performed at the Jade-pure Monastery
and you should go in person to pray. May all come right!”
Sun Tsʻê could not withstand such a mandate from his mother so,
mustering all his strength, he managed to get into a sedan chair and
went to the monastery, where the Taoists received him respectfully and
begged him to light the incense. He did so, but he returned no thanks.
To the surprise of all, the smoke from the brazier, instead of floating
upwards and dissipating, collected in a mass that gradually shaped
itself into an umbrella and there on the top sat Yü Chi.
Sun Tsʻê simply spat abuse and went out of the temple. As he passed the
gates, lo! Yü Chi stood there gazing at him with angry eyes.
“Do you see that wizard fellow?” said he to those about him.
They said they saw nothing. More angry than ever he flung his sword at
the figure by the gate. The sword struck one of his escort who fell.
When they turned him over they saw it was the executioner who had
actually slain the Taoist. The sword had penetrated his brain and his
life drained out through the seven channels of perception. Sun Tsʻê
told them to bury the man. But as he went out of the courtyard he saw
Yü Chi walking in.
“This temple is nothing more than a lurking place for sorcerers and
wizards and such people,” said he.
Whereupon he took a seat in front of the building and sent for half a
company of soldiers to pull the place down. When they went up on the
roof to strip off the tiles he saw Yü Chi standing on the main beam
flicking tiles to the ground. More angry than ever he told them to
drive out the priests belonging to the place and burn it. They did so
and when the flames rose their highest he saw the dead Taoist Yü Chi
standing in the midst of the fire.
Sun Tsʻê returned home still in a bad humour, which increased when he
saw the form of Yü Chi standing at his gate. He would not enter but
mustered his army and went into camp outside the city walls. And there
he summoned his officers to meet him and talk over joining Yüan in an
attack on Tsʻao.
They assembled, but they remonstrated with him and begged him to
consider his precious health. That night he slept in the camp and again
saw Yü Chi, this time with his hair hanging loose. He raged at the
vision without cessation.
Next day his mother called him into the city and he went. She was
shocked at the change in his appearance; he looked so utterly
miserable. Her tears fell.
“My son,” said she, “how wasted you are!”
He had a mirror brought and looked at himself; he was indeed so gaunt
and thin that he was almost frightened and exclaimed, “How do I come to
look so haggard?”
While he spoke, Yü Chi appeared in the mirror. He struck it and
shrieked. Then the half healed wounds re-opened and he fainted.
He was raised and borne within. When he recovered consciousness he
said, “This is the end; I shall die.”
He sent for Chang Chao and his other chief officers and his brother,
Sun Chʻüan, and they gathered in his chamber. He gave them his dying
charge, saying, “In the disordered state of the Empire Wu and Yüeh,
with their strong defence of the Three Chiang, have a brilliant future.
You, Chang Chao, must assist my brother.”
So saying he handed his seal to Sun Chʻüan saying, “For manipulating
the might of Chiangtung so as to make it the deciding force between two
factions and then obtaining the whole Empire you are not so suited as
I; but in encouraging the wise and confiding in the able and getting
the best out of every one for the preservation of this district, I
should not succeed as you will. Remember with what toil and labour your
father and I have won what we possess and take good care thereof.”
Sun Chʻüan wept as he knelt to receive the seal and the dying chief
turned to his mother, “Mother, the days allotted of Heaven have run out
and I can no longer serve my tender mother. I have given over the seal
to my brother and trust that you will advise him early and late, and
see that he lives worthy of his predecessors.”
“Alas! your brother is full young for such a task,” said his mother
weeping. “I know not what may happen.”
“He is far abler than I and fully equal to the task of ruling. Should
he have doubts upon internal affairs, he must turn to Chang Chao; for
outer matters he must consult Chou Yü. It is a pity Chou Yü is absent
so that I cannot give him my charge face to face.”
To his brothers he said, “When I am gone you must help your brother.
Should any discord arise in the family let the others punish the
wrong-doer and let not his ashes mingle with those of his ancestors in
the family vaults.”
The young men wept at these words. Then he called for his wife, the
famous beauty of the Chʻiao family, and said, “Unhappily we have to
part while still in the full vigour of life. You must care for my
mother. Your sister will come to see you presently and you can ask her
to tell Chou Yü to help my brother in all things and make him keep to
the way I have taught him to walk in.”
Then he closed his eyes and soon after passed away. He was only
twenty-six.
Men called him first of the chieftains,
The east had felt his might,
He watched like a tiger crouching,
Struck as a hawk in flight.
There was peace in the lands he ruled,
His fame ran with the wind,
But he died and left to another,
The great scheme in his mind.
As his brother breathed his last Sun Chʻüan sank by his bed and wept.
“This is not the time to mourn,” said Chang Chao. “First see to the
funeral ceremonies and that the government is safe.”
So the new ruler dried his tears. The superintendence of the funeral
was confided to Sun Ching and then Chang Chao led his young master to
the hall to receive the felicitations of his officers.
Sun Chʻüan was endowed with a square jaw and a large mouth; he had blue
eyes and a dark brown beard. Formerly, when Liu Yüan had gone to Wu to
visit the Sun family, he said of the family of brothers, “I have looked
well at them all and they are all clever and perspicacious, but none of
them have the very ultimate degree of good fortune. Only the second has
the look of a deep thinker. His face is remarkable, and his build
unusual, and he has the look of one who will come to great honour. But
none of them will attain to the blessing of a great age.”
History says that when Sun Chʻüan succeeded to his brother and his
brother’s might, there was still some reorganization to be done. Soon
Chou Yü had arrived. The young ruler received him very graciously and
said, “I need have no anxiety now that you have come.”
It will be remembered that Chou Yü had been sent to hold Pachʻiu. When
he heard that his chief had been wounded by an arrow he thought it well
to return to see how he was. But Sun Tsʻê had died before Chou Yü could
arrive. He hurried to be present at the funeral.
When he went to wail at the coffin of his late chief, Wu Fu-jên, the
dead man’s mother, came out to deliver her son’s last injunctions. When
she had told him the last charge he bowed to the earth, saying, “I
shall exert the puny powers I have in your service as long as I live.”
Shortly after Sun Chʻüan came in, and, after receiving Chou Yü’s
obeisance, said, “I trust you will not forget my brother’s charge to
you.”
Chou bowed saying, “I would willingly suffer any form of death for
you.”
“How best can I maintain this grave charge which I have inherited from
my father and brother?”
“He who wins men, prospers; he who loses them, fails. Your present plan
should be to seek men of high aims and farseeing views and you can
establish yourself firmly.”
“My brother bade me consult Chang Chao for internal administration, and
yourself on external matters,” said Chʻüan.
“Chang Chao is wise and understanding and equal to such a task. I am
devoid of talent and fear to take such responsibility, but I venture to
recommend to you as a helper one Lu Su, named Tzŭ-ching, a man of
Tungchʻuan. This man’s bosom hides strategy and his breast conceals
tactics. He lost his father in early life and has been a perfectly
filial son to his mother. His family is rich and renowned for charity
to the needy. When I was stationed at Chʻao-chʻang I led some hundreds
of men across the Linhuai. We were short of grain. Hearing that the Lu
family had two granaries there, each holding three thousand measures, I
went to ask for help. Lu Su pointed to one granary and said, ‘Take that
as a gift.’ Such was his generosity!
“He has always been fond of fencing and horse archery. He was living in
Chuo. His grandmother died while he was there and he went to bury her
in Tungchʻêng and then his friend, Liu Tzŭ-yang, wished to engage him
to go to Chʻaohu and join Chêng Pao. However, he hesitated about that
and has not gone yet. You should invite him without loss of time.”
Sun Chʻüan at once sent Chou Yü to engage the services of this man and
he set out. When the obeisances were over he laid before his friend the
inducements that his own master held out. He replied that as he had
been engaged by Liu Tzŭ-yang to go to Chʻaohu he was just starting
thither.
Said Chou Yü, “Of old Ma Yüan said to Kuang-Wu, ‘This is an age when
not only do princes select their ministers, but ministers choose their
princes.’ Now our General Sun calls to him the wise and treats his
officers well. Thus he engages the help of the wonderful and gets the
services of the extraordinary in a way that few others do. But if you
are not engaged elsewhere come with me to Wu as the best thing to do.”
Lu Su returned with him and saw Sun Chʻüan, who treated him with the
greatest deference and with him discussed affairs very fully. The
conference proved so interesting that it went on all day and neither
felt fatigue.
One day at the close of the usual reception, the chief kept Lu Su to
dine with him. They sat up late and by and by slept on the same couch
as would the closest of friends. In the dead of night Sun Chʻüan said
to his bedfellow, “The Dynasty is failing and everything is at sixes
and sevens. I have received a great charge from my father and brother
and I am thinking of imitating the actions of Huan and Wên and becoming
the leader of the feudal lords and I pray you instruct me.”
Lu Su replied, “Of old Han Kao-Tsu wished to honour and serve the
Emperor I, but could not on account of Hsiang Yü’s evil doings. Now
Tsʻao Tsʻao can be compared with Hsiang Yü; how can you be Huan and
Wên? My humble opinion is that the Hans have fallen beyond hope of
recovery and Tsʻao Tsʻao cannot be destroyed and that the only key to
your schemes is to secure your present position in order to keep the
master hand and control the combinations among the others. Now take
advantage of the turmoil in the north to smite Huang Tsu and attack Liu
Piao. Thereby you will command the whole length of the Great River
(Yangtse). Then you may style yourself Emperor or King and thereafter
as may be. This was how Kao-Tsu acted.”
Hearing this Sun Chʻüan was very greatly pleased. He threw on some
clothing, got up and thanked his new-found adviser. Next day Sun Chʻüan
gave him costly gifts and sent robes and hangings to his mother.
Lu Su then recommended a friend of his to the young man’s notice, a man
of wide reading and great ability. He was also a filial son. His double
name was Chuko Chin and he came from Nanyang. Sun Chʻüan treated him as
a superior guest. This man dissuaded Sun Chʻüan from making common
cause with Yüan Shao, but advised him rather to favour Tsʻao Tsʻao,
against whom he could plan when occasion served. Sun Chʻüan therefore
sent back the messenger Chʻên Chên with despatches that broke off all
negotiations.
Hearing of Sun Tsʻê’s death, Tsʻao Tsʻao was for sending an expedition
against Chiangnan. But a certain historian, Chang Hung, dissuaded him,
saying that it would be mean to take advantage of the period of
mourning.
“And if you should not overcome him you will make him an enemy instead
of being a friend. It would be preferable to treat him generously.”
So Tsʻao memorialised the throne and obtained for Sun Chʻüan the title
of Generalissimo and Prefect of Kueichi, while Chang Hung was appointed
under him as Tu-yu.
And a seal of office was sent him. The new appointment pleased Sun
Chʻüan and he was also glad to get Chang Hung back again. He was sent
to act jointly with Chang Chao.
Chang Hung was the means of getting another into Sun Chʻüan’s service.
His friend was Ku Yung, known also as Yüan-tʻan, a disciple of the
historian Tsʻai Yung. He was a man of few words and an abstainer from
wine. He was very correct in all things. Sun Chʻüan employed him in the
administration.
Henceforward Sun Chʻüan’s rule was very prosperous and he waxed
mightily in influence and won the love of all the people.
When Chʻên Chên had returned and related the events in Wu, and told of
the honours that Tsʻao Tsʻao had obtained for the young man in return
for his support, Yüan Shao was very wroth and he set about preparing
for an attack on the capital with a force of seventy legions of
northern men.
Although in the south they rest from war,
They rattle the spears ’neath the northern star.
Later it will be seen which side conquered.