THE LADY TSʻAI DISCUSSES THE RENUNCIATION OF CHINGCHOU:
CHUKO LIANG BURNS HSINYEH.
When Yüan-tê asked how his adviser hoped to repel Tsʻao Tsʻao,
Kʻung-ming replied, “This is a small city and unfitted for our lengthy
occupation. Liu Piao is ill and failing fast, so this is the time to
take his district as a base where we may be safe against Tsʻao Tsʻao.”
“You speak well, Master, but Liu Piao has shown me great kindness and I
could not bear to serve him an ill turn.”
“If you do not take this opportunity you will regret it ever after,”
said Kʻung-ming,
“I would rather perish than do what is wrong.”
“We will discuss it again,” replied Kʻung-ming.
When Hsiahou Tun reached the capital he presented himself to his master
in bonds and craved death. But his master loosed him and let him tell
his tale. And he said, “I was the victim of Chuko Liang’s evil
machinations; he attacked with fire.”
“As a soldier from your youth you should have remembered that fire was
a likely weapon in narrow roads.”
“Li Tien and Yü Chin reminded me; I am sorry enough now.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao rewarded his two captains who had warned their leader.
“Liu Pei as strong as he is now certainly is a menace to our existence
and he must be quickly destroyed,” said Hsiahou Tun.
“He is one of my anxieties,” replied Tsʻao. “Sun Chʻüan is the other.
The rest do not count. We must take this chance to sweep the south
clean.”
Then orders were issued to prepare an army of fifty legions, in five
divisions of ten legions each. Each had two leaders, except the fifth,
which Tsʻao Tsʻao himself led. The van was commanded by Hsü Chʻu. The
seventh moon of the thirteenth year was fixed for the march.
The high officer, Kʻung Jung, offered a remonstrance. He said, “Liu Pei
and Liu Piao are both of the Imperial House and should not be attacked
without grave reasons. Sun Chʻüan in the six districts is terrible as a
crouching tiger and, with the Great River as his defence, he is very
secure. If, Sir Minister, you undertake this unjustifiable expedition,
you will forfeit the respect of the world, I fear.”
“All three of them are disobedient ministers and rebels and how can I
fail to punish them?” replied Tsʻao.
He was angry, and bade the adviser go from his presence. Presently he
gave formal orders that he would put to death any one who remonstrated
on the subject of his expedition.
Kʻung Jung went forth from the palace sadly. Casting his eyes up to
heaven, he cried, “Where is the chance of success when the perfectly
inhumane attacks the perfectly humane? He must be defeated.”
One of the clients of the historian Chʻi Lü, whom Kʻung Jung had always
treated contemptuously and disdainfully, happened to hear this
apostrophe and told his patron who carried the tale to Tsʻao Tsʻao. He
also added to it that Kʻung habitually spoke disrespectfully of the
Chief Minister and had been very friendly with Mi Hêng. In fact the
insults that Mi Hêng had hurled at Tsʻao Tsʻao had been deliberately
arranged and intrigued by Kʻung. Kʻung Jung and Mi Hêng seemed to
admire each other hugely and Mi used to say, “Confucius is not dead”
and the other used to reply “Yen Hui has risen again.”
Chʻi Lü’s tale angered Tsʻao, who ordered the arrest of the historian
and sent Tʻing Wei to carry it out.
Now Kʻung Jung had two sons, both young, who were sitting at home
playing wei-chʻi, when one of their servants ran in and said, “Your
father has just been carried off for execution; why do you not run
away?”
The youths replied, “When the nest is pulled down are the eggs left
unbroken?”
Even at that moment the same officer came and carried off the whole
household. The two youths were beheaded. The father’s corpse was
exposed in the streets.
The Prefect of the Metropolis, Chih Hsi, wept over the corpse. This
public exhibition of sympathy re-kindled Tsʻao’s anger and he was going
to punish it with death. However, this additional cruelty was prevented
by the adviser Hsün Yü, who said, “You should not slay a righteous man
who came to mourn over his friend’s corpse. He had often warned his
friend, Kʻung Jung, against the danger his severe rectitude might lead
him into.”
Chih Hsi took up the remains of father and sons and buried them.
Kʻung Jung, who dwelt on the north sea shore,
A noble reputation bore;
With him all guests warm welcome found,
And ceaselessly the wine went round.
For skill in letters he was famed,
In speech, he dukes and princes shamed,
Historians his merits tell,
Recorders say that he did well.
After wreaking his wrath on Kʻung Jung, Tsʻao issued the order to
march. Hsün Yü was left in command of the capital.
About this time the Prefect of Chingchou became seriously ill and he
summoned Liu Pei to his chamber. He went accompanied by his two
brothers and the adviser. Liu Piao said, “The disease has attacked my
very vitals and my time is short. I confide my orphans to your
guardianship. My son is unfit to succeed to my place, and I pray you,
my brother, to administer the district after my death.”
Liu Pei wept, saying, “I will do my utmost to help my nephew; what else
could I do, indeed?”
Even at this moment came the news of the march of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s armies
and Liu Pei, taking hasty leave of his kinsman, was forced to hurry to
his station. The evil tidings aggravated the sick man’s condition and
he began to make his last arrangements. In his testament he appointed
Yüan-tê the guardian of his son Liu Chi, who was to succeed in the
lordship.
This arrangement greatly angered his wife the Lady Tsʻai. She closed
the inner doors against all and confided to her own partizans, of whom
her brother and Chang Yün were her confidants, the keeping of the outer
gates.
The heir was at Chianghsia and he came to make filial enquiries as soon
as his father’s condition became serious. But Tsʻai Mao refused him
admittance and said, “Your father sent you to guard Chianghsia. Such a
very responsible post should by no means have been quitted without
orders. Suppose it was attacked, what might not happen? If your father
sees you he will be very angry and it will make him worse. That would
be most undutiful and you should return to your command at once.”
Liu Chi stood out for some time, but admittance was denied him in spite
of his tears. So he returned to his post. Meanwhile his father rapidly
grew worse. He anxiously looked for his son, but he came not. Suddenly
he uttered piercing shrieks and then passed away.
When the Yüans were lords of the north,
And Piao held the bank of the river,
It seemed, so strong were they both,
That they would endure for ever.
But the women folk troubled their states,
And, meddling, confusion made;
It was mournful indeed to see
How quickly the house decayed.
So the Prefect died. Then the widow and her partizans took counsel
together and forged a testament conferring the lordship of Chingchou on
the second son Liu Tsʻung before they published the news of the death.
The wrongful heir was then fourteen years of age. He was no fool, so he
assembled the officials and said, “My father has passed away and my
elder brother is at Chianghsia. More than that, our uncle is at
Hsinyeh. You have made me lord, but if my brother and uncle come here
with an army to punish me for usurping the lordship, what explanation
can I offer?”
At first no one replied. Then a secretary Li Kuei, rose and said, “You
speak well. Now hasten to send letters of mourning to your brother and
ask him to come and take his inheritance. Also call upon Yüan-tê to
come and assist in the administration. Then shall we be safe against
our enemies on both north and south. I consider this the most excellent
plan.”
But Tsʻai Mao replied harshly, “Who are you to speak thus wildly and
oppose the testament of our late lord?”
Li began to abuse him, “You and your party have fabricated this
testament, setting aside the rightful heir. Now the whole district is
in the hands of the Tsʻai family and if our dead lord knew your doings
he would slay you.”
Tsʻai Mao ordered the lictors to take him away to execution. He was
hurried out, but his tongue ceased not.
So the younger son was placed in his father’s seat and the Tsʻai clan
shared among them the whole military authority of the district. The
defence of Chingchou was confided to Têng I and Liu Hsien, while Lady
Tsʻai and her son took up their residence in Hsiangyang so as to be out
of the reach of the rightful heir and his uncle. They interred the
remains of the late Prefect on the east of Hsiangyang. No notice of the
death was sent to Liu Chi, the son, or to his uncle.
Liu Tsʻung arrived at Hsiangyang, but, before he had had time to
recover from the fatigue of the journey, the startling news of the
approach of a great army came in. He summoned Kʻuai Yüeh and Tsʻai Mao
and others to ask counsel. One of the secretaries, Fu Sun, offered his
advice, saying, “Not only are we threatened by a great army, but the
elder son, who is the real heir, at Chianghsia, and his uncle at
Hsinyeh, are to be reckoned with. These two have not been notified of
the death, and they will resent that. We shall be in sad case if they
also march against us. But if you will adopt my suggestion then our
people will be as steady as Mount Tʻai and our young lord’s position
and rank will be assured.”
“What is your plan?” asked the young lord.
“To offer the whole district to Tsʻao Tsʻao, who will treat our young
master most liberally.”
“What advice!” said Liu Tsʻung angrily. “Am I to yield my heritage to
another before I have even fairly succeeded to it?”
“The advice is good,” said Kʻuai Yüeh. “Opportunism is a policy and
possibilities need consideration. In the name of government, Tsʻao is
fighting against his neighbours. If our lord oppose him he will be
termed contumacious. Beside, any misfortune on our borders before our
young lord is well established will react upon the internal
administration and our people will be panic-stricken at the mere news
of the approach of a hostile army. How could we then offer any
resistance?”
Liu Tsʻung replied, “It is not that I disagree with you, but I should
be a laughing-stock to the whole world were I to abandon my heritage
without an effort.”
He was interrupted by a speaker who said, “If their advice is good, why
not follow it?”
They turned toward the speaker who was a certain Wang Tsʻan of
Shangyang, a lean, cadaverous individual much below the middle height
of a man.
However, his talents did not conform to his physical appearance. When
he was yet a youth he went to visit Tsʻai Yung, then a vice-president,
and although many guests of exalted rank were present, the host
hastened to welcome the newcomer with the greatest deference. The
others were astonished and asked why he was so respectful to a mere
youth.
“He is a young man with the highest gifts; were I only like him——,”
said Tsʻai.
Wang was widely read and had a most retentive memory, better than any
of his contemporaries. If he glanced at a roadside monument as he
passed, he remembered every word of the inscription. If he saw people
playing wei-chʻi and the board was suddenly overthrown, he could
replace every pip in its proper place. He was a good mathematician and
his poems were exquisite. At seventeen he was appointed a court
official but did not take up the appointment. When the disturbance in
the empire grew serious he sought refuge in Chingchou, where he was
received with great honour as guest of the Prefect.
What he said was this, “General, how do you compare with Tsʻao Tsʻao?”
“Inferior,” replied Liu Tsʻung.
Wang continued, “Tsʻao has many soldiers and bold leaders; he is able
and resourceful. He took Lü Pu and broke the power of Yüan Shao. He
pursued Liu Pei into Lung and destroyed Wu Huan. The destruction of
such firmly established men shows his invincible character. Now he is
on the way here and it will be very difficult to withstand him. The
plan proposed is the best you can expect and you should not delay and
hesitate till it is too late for aught but regret.”
“Worthy Sir, you indeed speak to the point; I must inform my mother,”
said the young ruler.
But just then they saw his mother appear from behind a screen; she had
been listening to all that was said.
“Why refer to me when three such gentlemen coincide in their opinions?”
said she.
So he decided, and the letter of surrender was composed and entrusted
to one Sung Chung to convey secretly to Tsʻao Tsʻao. Sung went straight
to Wanchʻêng and presented the letter. It was received with joy and the
bearer well rewarded. The submission was accepted and Sung was told to
tell his master to go out to meet Tsʻao Tsʻao in the open country and
he was to be confirmed in perpetual tenure of his land.
Sung Chung left the city and took the homeward way. He had nearly
reached the ferry when he fell in with a party of horse. On a closer
look he saw the leader was Kuan Yü. The messenger tried to escape
observation, but was presently captured and taken to the leader to be
questioned. At first he prevaricated but on being closely questioned
told the whole story. Then he was carried off to Hsinyeh and made to
retell his story to Liu Pei who heard it with lamentations.
Chang Fei said, “This being so, I propose that we put this fellow to
death, then cross the river, attack Hsiangyang and make an end of the
Tsʻai tribe and Liu Tsʻung as well. Then we can attack Tsʻao Tsʻao.”
But Yüan-tê replied, “Just shut your mouth. I have something more to
say.” Then turning to the prisoner he shouted, “When they did all this
why did you not come to tell me? As things are now there is nothing to
be gained by killing you. You may go.”
Sung Chung stammered his thanks, threw his arms over his head and ran
away. Yüan-tê was very sad.
Presently a certain I Chi, a messenger from his nephew, was announced.
Yüan-tê was very fond of this man and went down the steps to welcome
him.
Then said I Chi, “The heir has heard that his father is dead, but his
stepmother and her family are keeping back the news so that they may
set up Liu Tsʻung. He knows the news is true, as he sent a special
messenger to find out. He thinks you, O Prince, may not know and has
sent me to inform you and his letter begs you to lead all the men you
can to Hsiangyang to help him assert his claims.”
Yüan-tê opened and read the letter. Then he said, “Yes; you know that
the younger son has usurped the lordship, but you have not heard that
he has already sent to offer the district to Tsʻao Tsʻao.”
This news shocked I Chi. “How know you this?” he asked.
Liu Pei told of the capture of Sung Chung. Chi said, “You can go to
Hsiangyang as if to attend the mourning ceremonies and so draw Liu
Tsʻung into coming out of the city to welcome you. Then you can seize
him, slay his party and take the district.”
“Your advice is good,” said Kʻung-ming, “and my lord ought to take it.”
Liu Pei wept, saying, “In his last interview my brother confided his
son and heir to my care. If I lay hands upon another son and seize upon
the inheritance, how shall I be able to look my brother in the face
when I meet him by and bye beyond the grave?”
“If you do not act in this way now how will you repel Tsʻao Tsʻao, who
has already reached Wanchʻêng?” said Kʻung-ming.
“Our best plan is to take refuge in Fanchʻêng,” replied Yüan-tê.
Just about this time the spies came to say that Tsʻao’s army had
reached Powang. So I Chi was sent off with instructions to take
measures for the defence of Chianghsia, while Liu Pei and Kʻung-ming
discussed plans for meeting the enemy.
Kʻung-ming bade his master take heart. As he had seen the last army
destroyed by fire, so would he see this one also the victim of a ruse.
He said, “This is no place to live in; we will move over to Fanchʻêng.”
Then notices were posted at all the gates that all the people, without
any exception, were to follow their rulers at once to the new city to
escape danger. Boats were prepared and the people sent away under the
direction of Sun Chʻien. Mi Chu saw to the safe conveyance of the
families of the officials.
Then the officers assembled for orders. Kuan Yü was to go to the White
River. His men were to carry bags to fill with sand and earth to dam
the river till the enemy should be heard, about the third watch next
day. Then the waters were to be freed to drown one of the armies. He
was then to march down river. Chang Fei was to go to Poling Ferry,
where the current was slow. After the waters of the White River had
been let loose on Tsʻao’s men they would try to get over the river at
the ferry. They were to be attacked. Chao Yün was to divide three
companies into four parties and take one to the east gate. The other
three were for the other gates. The roofs of the houses within the city
walls were piled with sulphur nitre and other combustibles.
The intention was to set fire to the city when the army of the enemy
had entered it for shelter. There would be a strong breeze next day in
the evening which would fan the flames. When this wind began to blow,
fire arrows were to be shot into the city from all sides. When the
flames were high there was to be a great shouting outside to add to the
general terror. The east gate was to be left free for escape, but the
flying men were to be smitten after passing the gate. Fanchʻêng was the
rallying centre after the battle.
Other orders were given to Mi Fang and Liu Fêng to take command of two
companies, one half with red flags and the other half with black. They
were to go to Magpie Tail Slope (Hsiwei Pʻo), about thirty li from the
city and camp. When they saw the Tsʻao army coming along they were to
move right and left to confuse them so that they should be afraid to
advance further.
All the orders given, the various leaders went their way to take up
their positions and await the burning of the city. Kʻung-ming and Liu
Pei went away to an eminence whence they could watch what happened and
where they would await the reports of victory.
Tsʻao Hung and Tsʻao Jên, with their ten legions, preceded by Hsü Chʻu
leading three companies of mailed men, marched toward Hsinyeh. They
formed a mighty host. They reached Magpie Tail Slope about noon.
Looking ahead, they saw what seemed a goodly army with many black and
red flags. Hsü Chʻu pressed forward. As he neared the flags moved from
side to side and he hesitated. He began to think it unwise to advance
and called a halt. Finally it was decided to go no farther then, and
the leader rode back to the main body to see Tsʻao Jên.
“Those men are only make-believe,” said Tsʻao Jên. “Advance, there is
no ambush. I will hasten up the supports.”
So Hsü Chʻu rode to his own command again and advanced. When he reached
the wood where he had seen the flags he saw no one at all. It was then
late in the afternoon but he decided to move on. Then he heard from the
hills the sound of musical instruments and, looking up, saw on the hill
top two umbrellas surrounded by many banners. There sat Liu Pei and
Kʻung-ming quietly drinking.
Angry at their coolness, he sought for a way up, but logs of wood and
great stones were thrown down and he was driven back. Further, from the
rear of the hills came a confused roar. He could find no way to attack
and it was getting late.
Then Tsʻao Jên arrived and ordered an attack on Hsinyeh that he might
have a place to rest in. They marched to the walls and found the gates
wide open. They entered and found a deserted city. No one was visible.
“This shows they are done,” said Tsʻao Hung, “They have all run away,
people and all. We may as well occupy the city and rest our men ready
for the morrow.”
The soldiers were fatigued with marching and hungry as well, so they
lost no time in scattering among the houses and setting about preparing
food in the deserted kitchens. The leaders took up their quarters in
the yamên.
After the first watch the wind began to blow. Soon after the gate
guards reported that a fire had started.
“The careless men have let sparks fly about,” said the General.
He thought no more about it just then, but along came other reports of
like nature and soon he realised that fires breaking out in all
quarters were not due to accident. So he gave orders to evacuate the
city. Soon the whole city seemed on fire and a red glow hung in the
sky. The army was beset with fire fiercer than it had been at Powang.
Thrice wicked was Tsʻao, but he was bold;
Though all in the capital he controlled,
Yet with this he was not content,
So southward his ravaging army went.
But, the autumn wind aiding, the Spirit of Fire
Wrought to his army destruction dire.
Officers and men dashing through the smoke and fire in utter confusion
sought some way of escape, and hearing that the east gate was free they
made for that quarter. Out they rushed pell-mell, many being trodden
down and trampled to death. Those who got through took the road to the
east.
But presently there was a shouting behind them and Chao Yün’s company
came up and attacked. Then Tsʻao’s men scattered, each fleeing for his
life. No stand was made. A little later Mi Chu came. The fleeing
general then had very few followers and those left him were scorched
and burned and very wearied.
They directed their way to the Paiho, joyfully remembering that the
river was shallow and fordable. And they went down into the stream and
drank their fill, men shouting and horses neighing.
Meantime Kuan Yü, higher up its course, had dammed the river with
sandbags so that its waters were collected in a lake. Toward evening he
had seen the red glow of the burning city and began to look out for his
signal. About the fourth watch he heard down stream the sounds of men
and horse and at once ordered the breaking of the dam. The water rushed
down in a torrent and overwhelmed the men just then in the bed of the
river. Many were swept away and drowned. Those who escaped made their
way to where the stream ran gently and got away.
Presently they reached the ferry at Powang. Here, where they thought
there would be safety, they found the road barred.
“You Tsʻao brigands!” shouted Chang Fei. “Come and receive your fate!”
Within the city the red flame leaps out:
On the river bank black anger is met.
What happened will appear in later chapters.