LIU PEI LEADS HIS PEOPLE OVER THE RIVER:
CHAO YÜN RESCUES HIS LORD.
The last chapter closed with the attack made by Chang Fei as soon as
his brother had let loose the waters on the doomed army. He met with
Hsü Chʻu and a combat began, but a fight with such a warrior was not to
Hsü’s taste and he ran away. Chang Fei followed till he came upon Liu
Pei and Kʻung-ming and the three went up stream till they came to the
boats that had been prepared, when they all crossed over and marched
toward Fanchʻêng. As soon as they disembarked Kʻung-ming ordered the
boats and rafts to be burned.
Tsʻao Jên gathered in the remnants of his army and camped at Hsinyeh,
while his colleague went to tell their lord the evil tidings of defeat.
“How dare he, this rustic fool!” exclaimed Tsʻao Tsʻao angrily.
He then hastily sent an overwhelming army to camp near the place and
gave orders for enormous works against the city, levelling hills and
turning rivers to launch a violent assault on Fanchʻêng from every side
at once.
Then Liu Yeh came in to see his lord and said, “Sir, you are new to
this district and you should win over the people’s hearts. Liu Pei has
moved all the people from Hsinyeh to Fanchʻêng. If we march through the
country, the people will be ground to powder. It would be well to call
upon Liu Pei first to surrender, which will prove to the people that
you have a care for them. If he yield then we get Chingchou without
fighting.”
Tsʻao agreed and asked who would be a suitable messenger. The reply was
Hsü Shu.
“He is a close friend and he is here with the army,” said Liu Yeh.
“But he will not come back,” objected Tsʻao.
“If he does not return he will be a laughing stock to the whole world;
he will come back.”
Hsü Shu was sent for, and Tsʻao said, “My first intention was to level
Fanchʻêng with the ground, but out of pity for its people you may carry
an offer to Liu Pei, that if he will surrender he will not only not be
punished but he shall be given rank. But if he hold on his present
misguided course the whole of his followers shall be destroyed. Now you
are an honest man and so I confide this mission to you, and I trust you
will not disappoint me.”
Hsü Shu said nothing but accepted his orders and went to the city,
where he was received by both Liu Pei and Kʻung-ming. They enjoyed a
talk over old times before Shu mentioned the object of his mission.
Then he said, “Tsʻao has sent me to invite you to surrender, thereby
making a bid for popularity. But you ought also to know that he intends
to attack the city from every point, that he is damming up the Paiho
waters to be sent against you, and I fear you will not be able to hold
the city. You ought to prepare.”
Liu Pei asked Shu to remain with them, but he said that that was
impossible, for all the world would ridicule him if he stayed.
“My old mother is dead and I never forget my resentment. My body may be
over there, but I swear never to form a plan for him. You have the
‘Sleeping Dragon’ to help you and need have no anxiety about the
ultimate achievement of your undertaking. But I must go.”
And he took his leave. Liu Pei felt he could not press his friend to
stay. He returned to Tsʻao Tsʻao’s camp and reported that Liu Pei had
no intention of surrender. This angered Tsʻao who gave orders to begin
the siege. When Liu Pei asked what Kʻung-ming meant to do he replied
that they would abandon Fanchʻêng and take Hsiangyang.
“But what of the people who have followed us? They cannot be
abandoned.”
“You can tell them to do as they wish. They may come if they like, or
remain here.”
They sent Kuan Yü to prepare boats and told Sun Chʻien to proclaim to
the people that Tsʻao was coming, that the city could not be defended,
and those who wished to do so might cross the river with the army. All
the people cried, “We will follow the prince even if it be to death.”
They started at once, some lamenting, some weeping, the young helping
the aged and parents leading their children, the strong soldiers
carrying the women. As the crowds crossed the river from both banks
arose the sound of lamentation.
Yüan-tê was much affected as he saw all this from the boat. “Why was I
ever born,” said he, “to be the cause of all this misery to the
people?”
He made to leap overboard, but they held him back. All were deeply
sympathetic. When the boat reached the southern shore he looked back at
the weeping crowds waiting still on the other bank and was again moved
to tears. He bade Kuan Yü hasten the boats before he mounted and rode
on.
When Hsiangyang came in sight they saw many flags flying on the walls
and that the moat was protected by chevaux de frise. Yüan-tê checked
his horse and called out, “Liu Tsʻung, good nephew, I only wish to save
the people and nothing more. I pray you quickly to open the gates.”
But Liu Tsʻung was too frightened to appear. Tsʻai Mao and Chang Yün
went up to one of the fighting towers and ordered the soldiers to shoot
arrows down on those without the walls. The people gazed up at the
towers and wept aloud.
Suddenly there appeared a captain, with a small following, who cried
out, “You are two traitors. The princely Liu is a most upright man and
has come here to preserve his people. Why do you repulse him?”
All looked at this man. He was of middle height, with a face dark brown
as a ripe date. He was from Iyang and named Wei Yen. At that moment he
looked very terrible, whirling his sword as if about to slice up the
gate guards. They lost no time in throwing open the gate and dropping
the bridge. “Come in, Uncle Liu,” cried Yen, “and bring your men to
slay these traitors!”
Chang Fei plunged forward to take him at his word, but was checked by
his brother, who said, “Do not frighten the people!”
Thus Wei Yen let in Liu Pei. As soon as he entered he saw a captain
galloping up with a few men. The newcomer yelled, “Wei Yen, you nobody!
how dare you create trouble? Do you not know me, the Generalissimo Wên
Pʻing?”
Wei Yen turned angrily, set his spear and galloped forward to attack
the generalissimo. The soldiers joined in the fray and the noise of
battle rose to the skies.
“I wanted to preserve the people and I am only causing them injury,”
cried Yüan-tê distressed. “I do not wish to enter the city.”
“Chiangling is an important point; we will first take that as a place
to dwell in,” said Kʻung-ming.
“That pleases me greatly,” said Yüan-tê.
So they led the people thither and away from Hsiangyang. Many of the
inhabitants of that city took advantage of the confusion to escape and
they also joined themselves to Yüan-tê.
Meanwhile, within the inhospitable city, Wei Yen and Wên Pʻing fought.
The battle continued for four or five hours, all through the middle of
the day, and nearly all the combatants fell. Then Wei Yen got away. As
he could not find Yüan-tê he rode off to Chʻangsha and sought an asylum
with the Prefect, Han Yüan.
Yüan-tê wandered away from the city that had refused shelter. Soldiers
and people, his following numbered more than a hundred thousand. The
carts numbered scores of thousands, and the burden bearers were
innumerable. Their road led them past the tomb of Liu Piao and Yüan-tê
turned aside to bow at the grave. He lamented, saying, “Shameful is thy
brother, lacking both in virtue and in talents. I refused to bear the
burden you wished to lay upon me, wherein I was wrong. But the people
committed no sin. I pray your glorious spirit to descend and rescue
these people.”
His prayer was fraught with sorrow and all those about him wept.
Just then a scout rode up with the news that Fanchʻêng was already
occupied and that men were preparing boats and rafts to cross the
river. The captains knew that Chiangling was a defensible place, but
they said, “With this crowd we can only advance very slowly and when
can we reach the city? If Tsʻao Tsʻao pursue, we shall be in a parlous
state. Our counsel is to leave the people to their fate for a time and
press on to the city.”
But Yüan-tê wept, saying, “The success of every great enterprise
depends upon humanity; how can I abandon these people who have joined
me?”
Those who heard him repeat this noble sentiment were greatly affected.
In time of stress his heart was tender toward the people,
And he wept as he went down into the ship,
Moving the hearts of soldiers to sympathy.
Even to-day, in the countryside,
Fathers and elders recall the Princely One’s kindness.
The progress of Yüan-tê, with the crowd of people in his train, was
very slow.
“The pursuers will be upon us quickly,” said Kʻung-ming. “Let us send
Kuan Yü to Chiangkʻou for succour. Liu Chi should be told to bring
soldiers and prepare boats for us at Chiangling.”
Yüan-tê agreed to this and wrote a letter which he sent by the hands of
Kuan Yü and Sun Chʻien. Chang Fei was put in command of the rear guard.
Chao Yün was told to guard the aged and the children, while the others
ordered the march of the people. They only travelled a short distance
daily and the halts were frequent.
Meanwhile Tsʻao Tsʻao was at Fanchʻêng, whence he sent soldiers over
the river toward Hsiangyang. He summoned Liu Tsʻung, but he was too
afraid to answer the call. No persuasion could get him to go. One, Wang
Wei, said to him privately, “Now you can overcome Tsʻao Tsʻao if you
are wise. Since you have announced surrender and Liu Pei has gone away,
he will relax his precautions and you can catch him unawares. Send a
well-prepared but unexpected force to waylay him in some commanding
position and the thing is done. If you were to take Tsʻao prisoner your
fame would run throughout the empire and the land would be yours for
the taking. This is a sort of opportunity that does not recur and you
should not miss it.”
The young man consulted Tsʻai Mao, who called Wang an evil counsellor
and spoke to him harshly. “You are mad; you know nothing and understand
nothing of destiny,” said Mao.
Wang Wei angrily retorted, calling his critic the betrayer of his
country, and saying he wished he could eat him alive. The quarrel waxed
deadly but eventually peace was restored.
Then Tsʻai Mao and Chang Yün went to Fanchʻêng to see Tsʻao Tsʻao. Mao
was by instinct specious and flattering, and when his host asked
concerning the resources of the district, he replied, “There are five
legions of horse, fifteen of foot and eight of marines. Most of the
money and grain are at Chiangling; the rest is stored at various
places. There are ample supplies for a year.”
“How many war vessels are there? Who is in command?” said Tsʻao.
“The ships, of all sizes, number seven thousand and we two are the
commanders.”
Upon this Tsʻao conferred upon Tsʻai Mao the title of Marquis, Guardian
of the South and Admiral-in-Chief of the Naval Force and Chang Yün was
his Vice-Admiral with the title of Marquis Tsŭ-shun.
When they went to thank Tsʻao for these honours he told them he was
about to propose to the throne that Liu Piao’s son should be perpetual
prefect of Chingchou in succession to his late father. With this
promise for their young master and the honours for themselves they
retired.
Then Hsün Yu asked Tsʻao why these two evident self-seekers and
flatterers had been treated so generously. Tsʻao replied, “Do I not
know all about them? Only in the north country, where I have been, they
know nothing of war by water and these two men do. I want their help
for the present. When my end is achieved I can do as I like with them.”
Liu Tsʻung was highly delighted when his two chief supporters returned
with the promise Tsʻao had given them. Soon after he gave up his seal
and military commission and proceeded to welcome Tsʻao Tsʻao, who
received him very graciously.
Tsʻao next proceeded to camp near Hsiangyang. The populace, led by
Tsʻai Mao, welcomed him with burning incense, and he on his part put
forth proclamations couched in comforting terms.
Tsʻao Tsʻao presently entered the city and took his seat in the
residence in state. Then he summoned Kʻuai Yüeh and said to him
graciously, “I do not rejoice so much at gaining Chingchou as at
meeting you, I-tu.”
He made Kʻuai Prefect of Chiangling and Marquis of Fanchʻêng; his other
adherents were all ennobled. Liu Tsʻung became Governor of Chʻingchou
in the north and was ordered to proceed to his district forthwith. He
was greatly frightened and said he had no wish to become an actual
official; he wished to remain in the place where his father and mother
lived.
Said Tsʻao, “Your governorship is quite near the capital and I have
sent you there as a full official to remove you from the intrigues of
this place.”
In vain Liu Tsʻung declined the honours thus thrust upon him; he was
compelled to go and he departed, taking his mother with him. Of his
friends, only Wang Wei accompanied him. Some of his late officers
escorted him as far as the river and then took their leave. Then Tsʻao
called his trusty officer Yü Chin and bade him follow up Liu Tsʻung and
put him and his mother to death.
Yü Chin followed the small party. When he drew near he shouted, “I have
an order from the great Minister to put you both to death, mother and
son; you may as well submit quietly.”
The Lady Tsʻai threw her arms about her son, lifted up her voice and
wept. Yü Chin bade the soldiers get on with their bloody work. Only
Wang Wei made any attempt to save his mistress and he was soon killed.
The two, mother and son, were soon finished and the murderer returned
to report his success. He was richly rewarded.
Next Tsʻao Tsʻao sent to discover and seize the family of Kʻung-ming,
but they had already disappeared. It was much to Tsʻao’s disgust that
the search was fruitless.
So Hsiangyang was settled. Then Hsün Yu proposed a further advance. He
said, “Chiangling is an important place, and very rich; if Liu Pei gets
it, it will be difficult to dislodge him.”
“How could I have overlooked that?” said Tsʻao.
Then he called upon the officers of Hsiangyang for one who could lead
the way. They all came except Wên Pʻing.
Tsʻao sent for him and soon he came also. “Why are you late?” asked
Tsʻao.
“To be a minister and see one’s master lose his own boundaries is most
shameful. Such an one has no face to show to any man and I was too
ashamed to come.”
His tears fell fast as he finished this speech. Tsʻao admired his loyal
conduct and rewarded him with office and a title, and also bade him
open the way.
The spies returned and told how Liu Pei was hampered by the crowds of
people who had followed him. And he was then only three hundred li
away. Tsʻao decided to take advantage of his plight so chose out five
companies of tried horsemen and sent them after the cavalcade, giving
them a limit of a day and a night to come up therewith. The main army
would follow.
As has been said Liu Pei was travelling with a huge multitude of
followers, to guard whom he had taken what precautions were possible.
Kuan Yü had been sent to Chianghsia. One day Kʻung-ming came in and
said, “There is as yet no news from Chianghsia; what are we to do?”
“I wish that you yourself would go there,” said Liu Pei. “Liu Chi would
remember your former kindness to him and consent to anything you
proposed.”
Kʻung-ming said he would go and set out with Liu Fêng, the adopted son
of Liu Pei, taking an escort of half a company.
A few days after, while on the march in company with three of his
intimate captains, a sudden whirlwind rose just in front of Yüan-tê,
and a huge column of dust shot up into the air hiding the face of the
sun. Yüan-tê was frightened and asked what that might portend. Chien
Yung, who knew something of the mysteries of nature, took the auspices
by counting secretly on his fingers. Pale and trembling he announced
that a calamity was threatening that very night. He advised his lord to
leave the people to their fate and flee quickly. But he refused to
think of it.
“If you allow your pity to overcome your judgment, then misfortune is
very near,” said Chien.
Thus spake Chien Yung to his lord, who then asked what place was near.
His people replied that Tangyang was quite close and there was a very
famous hill near it called Chingshan or Prospect Hill. Then Yüan-tê
bade them lead the way thither.
The season was late autumn, just changing to winter, and the icy wind
penetrated to the very bones. As evening fell, long-drawn howls of
misery were heard on every side. At the middle of the fourth watch, two
hours after midnight, they heard a rumbling sound in the north-west.
Yüan-tê halted and placed himself at the head of his own guard of two
companies to meet whatever might come. Presently Tsʻao’s men appeared
and made a fierce onslaught. Defence was impossible, though Yüan-tê
fought desperately. By good fortune just at the crisis Chang Fei came
up, cut his way through, rescued his brother and got him away to the
east. Presently they were stopped by Wên Pʻing.
“Turncoat! Can you still look men in the face?” cried Yüan-tê.
Wên Pʻing was overwhelmed with shame and led his men away. Chang Fei,
now fighting, now flying, protected his brother till dawn.
By that time Liu Pei had got beyond the sound of battle and there was
time to rest. Only a few of his men had been able to keep near him. He
knew nothing of the fate of his captains or the people. He lifted up
his voice in lamentation saying, “Myriads of living souls are suffering
from love of me, and my captains and my loved ones are lost. One would
be a graven image not to weep at such loss.”
Still plunged in sadness presently he saw hurrying toward him Mi Fang,
with an enemy’s arrow still sticking in his face. He exclaimed, “Chao
Yün has gone over to Tsʻao Tsʻao!”
Yüan-tê angrily bade him be silent. “Do you think I can believe that of
my old friend?” cried he.
“Perhaps he has gone over,” said Chang Fei. “He must see that we are
nearly lost and there are riches and honours on the other side.”
“He has followed me faithfully through all my misfortunes. His heart is
firm as a rock. No riches or honours would move him.”
“I saw him go away north-west,” said Mi Fang.
“Wait till I meet him,” said Chang Fei. “If I run against him I will
kill him.”
“Beware how you doubt him,” said Yüan-tê. “Have you forgotten the
circumstances under which your brother had to slay two men to ease your
doubts of him? Chao Yün’s absence is due to good reason wherever he has
gone, and he would never abandon me.”
But do you think Chang Fei was convinced? Then Chang Fei, with a score
of his men, rode to Chʻangpan Bridge. Seeing a wood near the bridge, an
idea suddenly struck him. He bade his followers cut branches from the
trees, tie them to the tails of the horses and ride to and fro so as to
raise a great dust as though an army were concealed in the wood. He
himself took up his station on the bridge facing the west with spear
set ready for action. So he kept watch.
Now Chao Yün, after fighting with the enemy from the fourth watch till
daylight, could see no sign of his lord and, moreover, had lost his
lord’s family. He thought bitterly within himself, “My master confided
to me his family and the young lord; and I have lost them. How can I
look him in the face? I can only go now and fight to the death.
Whatever happen I must go to seek the women and my lord’s son.”
Turning about he found he had but two score followers left. He rode
quickly to and fro among the scattered soldiers seeking the lost women.
The lamentations of the people about him were enough to make heaven and
earth weep. Some had been wounded by arrows, others by spears; they had
thrown away their children, abandoned their wives, and were flying they
knew not whither in crowds.
Presently he saw a man lying in the grass and recognised him as Chien
Yung.
“Have you seen the two mothers?” cried he.
Chien replied, “They left their carriage and ran away taking O-tou in
their arms. I followed but on the slope of the hill I was wounded and
fell from my horse. The horse was stolen. I could fight no longer and I
lay down here.”
Chao Yün put his colleague on the horse of one of his followers, told
off two soldiers to support him and bade him ride to their lord and
tell him of the loss. “Say,” said he, “that I will seek the lost ones
in heaven or hell, through good or evil, and if I find them not I will
die in the desert.”
Then he rode off toward Chʻangpan Slope. As he went a voice called out,
“General Chao, where are you going?”
“Who are you?” said Chao Yün, pulling up.
“One of the Princely One’s carriage guards. I am wounded.”
“Do you know anything of the two ladies?”
“Not very long ago I saw the Lady Kan go south with a party of other
women. Her hair was down and she was barefooted.”
Hearing this, without even another glance at the speaker, Chao Yün put
his horse at full gallop toward the south. Soon he saw a small crowd of
persons, male and female, walking hand in hand.
“Is the Lady Kan among you?” he called out.
A woman in the rear of the party looked up at him and uttered a loud
cry. He slipped off his steed, stuck his spear in the sand and wept,
“It was my fault that you were lost. But where are the Lady Mi and our
young lord?”
She replied, “I and she were forced to abandon our carriage and mingle
with the crowd on foot. Then a band of soldiers came up and we were
separated. I do not know where they are. I ran for my life.”
As she spoke a howl of distress rose from the crowd of fugitives, for a
company of soldiers appeared. Chao Yün recovered his spear and mounted
ready for action. Presently he saw among the soldiers a prisoner bound
upon a horse; and the prisoner was Mi Chu. Behind him followed a
captain gripping a huge sword. The men belonged to the army of Tsʻao
Jên and the Captain was Shunyu Tao. Having captured Mi Chu he was just
taking him to his chief as a proof of his prowess.
Chao Yün shouted and rode at the captor who was speedily unhorsed and
his captive was set free. Then taking two of the horses Chao Yün set
the lady on one and Mi Chu took the other. They rode away toward
Chʻangpan Slope.
But there, standing grim on the bridge, was Chang Fei. As soon as he
saw Chao Yün he called out, “Tzŭ-lung, why have you betrayed my
brother?”
“I fell behind because I was seeking the ladies and our young lord,”
said Chao Yün. “What do you mean by talking of betrayal?”
“If it had not been that Chien Yung arrived before you I should hardly
have spared you.”
“Where is the master?” said Chao Yün.
“Not far away, in front there.”
“Conduct the Lady Kan to him; I am going to look for the Lady Mi,” said
Chao Yün to his companion, and he turned back along the road by which
he had come.
Before long he met a captain armed with an iron spear and carrying a
sword slung across his back, riding a curvetting steed and leading a
half score of other horsemen. Without uttering a word Chao Yün rode
straight toward him and engaged. At the first pass he disarmed his
opponent and brought him to earth. His followers galloped away.
This fallen officer was no other that Hsiahou En. Tsʻao Tsʻao’s
sword-bearer, and the sword on his back was his master’s. Tsʻao Tsʻao
had two swords, one called I-tʻien (Trust in God) and the other
Chʻing-kung. I-tʻien was the weapon he usually wore at his side, the
other being carried by his sword-bearer. Chʻing-kung would cut clean
through iron as though it were mud and no sword had so keen an edge.
When Chao Yün thus fell in with Tsʻao’s sword-bearer the later was
simply plundering, depending upon the authority implied by his office.
Least of all thought he of such sudden death as met him at Chao Yün’s
hands.
So Chao Yün got possession of a famous sword. The name Chʻing-kung was
chased in gold characters so that he recognised its value at once. He
stuck it in his belt and again plunged into the press. Just as he did
so he turned his head and saw he had not a single follower left; he was
quite alone.
Nevertheless not for a single instant thought he of turning back; he
was too intent upon his quest. To and fro, back and forth, he rode
questioning this person and that. At length a man said, “A woman with a
child in her arms, and wounded in the thigh so that she cannot walk, is
lying over there through that hole in the wall.”
Chao Yün rode to look and there, beside an old well behind the broken
wall of a burned house, sat the mother clasping the child to her breast
and weeping.
Chao was on his knees before her in a moment.
“My child will live then since you are here,” cried the Lady Mi. “Pity
him, O General; protect him, for he is the only son of his father’s
flesh and blood. Take him to his father and I can die content.”
“It is my fault that you have suffered,” replied Chao Yün. “But it is
useless to say more. I pray you take my horse while I will walk beside
and protect you till we get clear.”
She replied, “I may not do that. What would you do without a steed? But
the boy here I confide to your care. I am badly wounded and cannot hope
to live. Pray take him and go your way. Do not trouble more about me.”
“I hear shouting,” said Chao. “The soldiers will be upon us again in a
moment. Pray mount quickly.”
“But really I cannot move,” she said. “Do not let there be a double
loss!” And she held out the child toward him as she spoke.
“Take the child,” cried she. “His life and safety are in your hands.”
Again and again Chao Yün besought her to get on his horse, but she
would not. The shouting drew nearer and nearer, Chao Yün spoke harshly
saying, “If you will not do what I say, what will happen when the
soldiers come up?”
She said no more. Throwing the child on the ground she turned over and
threw herself into the old well. And there she perished.
The warrior relies upon the strength of his charger,
Afoot, how could he bear to safety his young prince?
Brave mother! who died to preserve the son of her husband’s line;
Heroine was she, bold and decisive!
Seeing that the lady had resolved the question by dying there was
nothing more to be done. Chao Yün filled in the well with the rubbish
that lay about lest the dead body should suffer shame. Then he loosened
his armour, let down the heart-protecting mirror and placed the child
in his breast. This done he slung his spear and re-mounted.
He had gone but a short distance when he saw Yen Ming, one of Tsʻao
Tsʻao’s minor captains. This warrior used a double edged, three pointed
weapon and he offered battle. However, Chao Yün disposed of him after a
very few bouts and dispersed his men.
As the road cleared before him he saw another detachment barring his
way. At the head of this was a captain of rank exalted enough to
display a banner with his name Chang Ho. Chao Yün never waited to
parley but attacked. However, this was a more formidable antagonist and
half a score bouts found neither any nearer defeat. But Chao, with the
child in his bosom, could only fight with the greatest caution and so
he decided to flee. Chang Ho pursued and as Chao thought only of
thrashing his steed to get away, and little of the road, suddenly he
went crashing into a pit. On came his pursuer, spear at poise. Suddenly
a brilliant flash of light seemed to shoot out of the pit and the
fallen horse leapt with it into the air and was again on firm earth.
A bright glory surrounds the child of the imperial line, now in
danger,
The powerful charger forces his way through the press of battle,
Bearing to safety him who was destined to sit on the throne two
score years and two;
And the general thus manifested his godlike courage.
This apparition frightened Chang Ho, who abandoned the pursuit
forthwith and Chao Yün rode off. Presently he heard shouts behind,
“Chao Yün, Chao Yün, stop!” and at the same time he saw ahead of him
two captains who seemed disposed to dispute his way. Two in front and
two following, his state seemed desperate, but he quailed not.
As the men of Tsʻao came pressing on he drew Tsʻao Tsʻao’s own sword to
beat them off. Nothing could resist it. Armour, clothing, it went
through without effort and blood gushed forth in fountains wherever it
struck. So the four captains were soon beaten off and Chao Yün was once
again free.
Now Tsʻao Tsʻao from a hill top saw these deeds of derring-do and a
captain showing such valour that none could withstand him, so he asked
of his followers whether any knew the man. No one recognised him, so
Tsʻao Hung galloped down into the plain and shouted to the hero asking
him his name.
“I am Chao Tzŭ-lung of Chʻangshan,” replied Chao Yün.
Tsʻao Hung returned and told his lord, who said, “A very tiger of a
leader! I must get him alive.” Whereupon he sent gallopers to all
detachments with orders that no arrows were to be fired from an ambush
at any point Chao Yün should pass; he was to be taken alive.
And so Chao Yün escaped most imminent danger, and O-tou’s safety, bound
up with his saviour’s, was also secured. On this career of slaughter
which ended in safety, Chao Yün, bearing in his bosom him who was to be
known as The Later Lord, cut down two banners, took three spears and
slew of Tsʻao’s captains half a hundred, all men of renown.
Blood dyed the fighting robe and crimsoned his buff coat;
None dared engage the terrible warrior at Tangyang;
In the days of old lived the brave Chao Yün,
Who fought in the battlefield for his lord in danger.
Having thus fought his way out of the press Chao Yün lost no time in
getting away from the battle field. His battle robe was soaked in
blood.
On his way, near the rise of the hills, he met with two other bodies of
men under two brothers, Chung Chin and Chung Shên. One of these was
armed with a massive axe, the other a halberd. As soon as they saw Chao
Yün they knew him and shouted, “Quickly dismount and be bound!”
He has only escaped from the tiger’s cave,
To risk the deep pool’s sounding wave.
How Chao Yün escaped will be next related.