CHUKO LIANG DISPUTES WITH THE SCHOLARS:
LU SU DENOUNCES THE MAJORITY OPINION.
In the boat on the way to Chʻaisang the two travellers beguiled the
time by discussing affairs. Lu Su impressed upon his companion the
necessity of concealing from Sun Chʻüan the truth about the magnitude
of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s army.
“I do not promise to do what you ask,” replied Chuko Liang, “but I
shall know how to reply.”
When the boat arrived Kʻung-ming was lodged in the guests’ quarters and
Lu Su went alone to see his master. He found him actually at a council,
assembled to consider the situation. Lu Su was summoned thereto and
questioned at once upon what he had discovered.
“I know the general outline, but I want a little time to prepare my
report,” replied he.
Then Sun Chʻüan produced Tsʻao Tsʻao’s letter and gave it to Su. “That
came yesterday. I have sent the bearer of it back and this gathering is
to consider the reply,” said he.
Lu Su read the letter, which said, “When I, the solitary one, received
the imperial command to punish a fault my banners went south and Liu
Tsʻung became my prisoner, while his people flocked to my side at the
first rumour of my coming. Under my hand are a hundred legions and I
have many able captains. My desire is, General, that we go on a great
hunting expedition into Chianghsia and together attack Liu Pei. We will
share his land between us and we will swear perpetual amity. If happily
you would not be a mere looker-on I pray you reply quickly.”
“What have you decided upon, my lord?” asked Lu as he finished the
letter.
“I have not yet decided.”
Then Chang Chao said, “It would be imprudent to withstand Tsʻao’s many
legions backed by the imperial authority. Moreover your most important
defence against him is the Long River (Yangtse) and since Tsʻao has
gained possession of Chingchou the river is his ally against us. We
cannot withstand him, and the only way to tranquillity, in my opinion,
is submission.”
“The words of the speaker accord with the manifest decree of
providence,” echoed all the assembly.
Sun Chʻüan remaining silent and thoughtful, Chang Chao again took up
the argument. “Do not hesitate, my lord. Submission to Tsʻao means
tranquillity for the people of Wu and safety for the inhabitants of
Chiangnan.”
Sun Chʻüan still remained silent, his head bent in deep thought.
Presently he arose and paced slowly out at the door and Lu Su followed
him. Outside he took Lu by the hand, saying, “What do you desire?”
“What they have all been saying is very derogatory to you. A common man
might submit; you cannot.”
“Why? How do you explain that?”
“If people like us submitted we could just return to our village, and
everything would go on as before. If you submit, whither will you go?
You will be created a Marquis, perhaps. You will have one carriage, no
more, one saddle horse, that is all. Your retinue will be half a score.
Will you be able to sit facing the south and call yourself by the
kingly title of ‘the solitary’? Each one in your crowd of hangers-on is
thinking for himself, is purely selfish, and you should not listen to
them, but take a line of your own and that quickly. Determine to play a
bold game.”
Sun Chʻüan sighed, “They all talk and talk, they miss my point of view.
Now you have just spoken of a bold game and your view is the same as
mine. Surely God has expressly sent you to me. Still Tsʻao is now the
stronger by all Yüan Shao’s army and he has possession of Chingchou. I
fear he is almost too powerful to contend with.”
“I have brought back with me Chuko Liang, the brother of our Chuko
Chin. If you questioned him he would explain clearly.”
“Is ‘Master Sleeping Dragon’ really here?”
“Really here; in the guest-house.”
“It is too late to see him to-day. But to-morrow I will assemble my
officials and you will introduce him to all my best. After that we will
debate the matter.”
With these instructions Lu Su retired. Next day he went to the
guesthouse and conveyed Sun’s commands to the guest, particularly
saying, “When you see my master to-morrow, say nothing of the magnitude
of Tsʻao’s army.”
Kʻung-ming smiled, saying, “I shall act as circumstances dictate; you
may be sure I shall make no mistakes.”
Kʻung-ming was then conducted to where the high officers, civil and
military to the number of two score and more, were assembled. They
formed a dignified conclave as they sat in stately ranks with their
tall headdresses and broad girdles.
Chang Chao sat at the head and Kʻung-ming first saluted him. Then, one
by one, he exchanged the formal courtesies with them all. This done he
took his seat in the guest’s chair. They, on their part, noted with
interest his refined and elegant manner and his commanding figure,
thinking within themselves, “Here is a man fitted for discourse.”
Chang Chao led the way in trying to bait the visitor. He said, “You
will pardon the most insignificant of our official circle, myself, if I
mention that people say you compare yourself with those two famous men
of talent, Kuan Chung and Yo I. Is there any truth in this?”
“To a trifling extent I have compared myself with them,” replied
Kʻung-ming.
“I have heard that Liu Pei made three journeys to visit you when you
lived in retirement in your simple dwelling, and that when you
consented to serve him he said he was as lucky as a fish in getting
home to the ocean. Then he desired to possess the district about
Chingchou and Hsiangyang. Yet to-day all that country belongs to Tsʻao
Tsʻao. I should like to hear your account of all that.”
Kʻung-ming thought, “This Chang is Sun Chʻüan’s first adviser and
unless I can nonplus him I shall never have a chance with his master.”
So he replied, “In my opinion the taking of the district around the Han
River was as simple as turning over one’s hand. But my master Liu is
both righteous and humane and would not stoop to filching the
possession of a member of his own house. So he refused the offer of
succession. But Liu Tsʻung, a stupid lad, misled by specious words,
submitted to Tsʻao and fell victim to his ferocity. My master is in
camp at Chianghsia, but what his future plans may be cannot be divulged
at present.”
“Be it so; but your words and your deeds are something discordant. You
say you are the equal of the two famous ones. Well, Kuan Chung as
Minister of Duke Kuan, put his master at the very head of the feudal
nobles, making his master’s will supreme in all the land. Under the
able statesmanship of Yo I the feeble country of Yen conquered Chʻi,
reducing nearly four score of its cities. These two were men of most
commanding and conspicuous talent. When you lived in retirement you
smiled scornfully at ordinary people, passed your days in idleness,
nursing your knees and posing in a superior manner, implying that if
you had control of affairs Liu Pei would be more than human; he should
bring good to everybody and remove all evil; rebellion and robbery
would be no more. Poor Liu, before he obtained your help, was an
outcast and a vagabond, stealing a city here and there where he could.
With you to help him he was to become the cynosure of every eye and
every lisping school boy was to say that he was a tiger who had grown
wings. The Hans were to be restored and Tsʻao and his faction
exterminated. The good old days would be restored and all the men who
had been driven into retirement by the corruption of political life
would wake up, rub the sleep out of their eyes and be in readiness to
lift the cloud of darkness that covered the sky and gaze up at the
glorious brilliancy of the sun and moon, to pull the people out of fire
and water and put all the world to rest on a couch of comfort. That was
all to happen forthwith. Why then, when you went to Yüchou, did not
Tsʻao’s army throw aside their arms and armour and flee like rats? Why
could you not have told Liu Piao how to give tranquillity to his
people? Why could you not aid his orphan son to protect his frontiers?
Instead you abandoned Hsinyeh and fled to Fanchʻêng; you were defeated
at Tangyang; you fled to Hsiakʻou with no place to rest in. Thus, after
you had joined Liu Pei, he was worse off than before. Was it thus with
Kuan Chung and Yo I? I trust you do not mind my blunt speech.”
Kʻung-ming waited till he had closed his oration, then laughed and
said, “How can the common birds understand the long flight of the roc?
Let me use an illustration. A man has fallen into a terrible malady.
First the physician must administer hashish, then soothing drugs until
his viscera shall be calmed into harmonious action. When the sick man’s
body shall have been reduced to quietude, then may he be given strong
meats to strengthen him and powerful drugs to correct the disorder.
Thus the disease will be quite expelled and the man restored to health.
If the physician does not wait till the humours and pulse are in
harmony, but throws in his strong drugs too early, it will be difficult
to restore the patient. My master suffered defeat at Junan and went to
Liu Piao. He had then less than one company of soldiers and only three
captains. That was indeed a time of extreme weakness. Hsinyeh was a
secluded, rustic town with few inhabitants and scanty supplies, and my
master only retired there as a temporary refuge. How could he even
think of occupying and holding it? Yet, with insufficient force, in a
weak city, with untrained men and inadequate supplies, a camp was
burned, two leaders and their army were nearly drowned and were
frightened into running away. I doubt whether your two ancient heroes
would have done any better. As to the surrender of Liu Tsʻung, Liu Pei
knew nothing of it. And he was too noble and too righteous to take
advantage of a kinsman’s straits to seize his inheritance. As for the
defeat at Tangyang it must be remembered that Liu Pei was hampered with
a huge voluntary following of common people, with their aged relatives
and their children, whom he was too humane to abandon. He never thought
of taking Chiangling, but willingly suffered with his people. This is a
striking instance of his magnanimity. Small forces are no match for
large armies. Victory and defeat are common episodes in every campaign.
The great Founder of the Hans suffered many defeats at the hands of
Hsiang Yü, but he finally conquered at Haihsia and that battle was
decisive. Was not this due to the strategy of Han Hsin who, though he
had long served his master, had never won a victory. Indeed real
statesmanship, the restoration of stable government is a master plan
far removed from the vapid discourses and debates of a lot of bragging
babblers and specious and deceitful talkers, who, as they themselves
say, are immeasurably superior to the rest of mankind but who, when it
comes to deeds and decisions to meet the infinite and constant
vicissitudes of affairs, fail to throw up a single capable man. Truly
such people are the laughing stock of all the world.”
Chang Chao found no reply to this diatribe but another in the assembly
lifted up his voice, saying, “But what of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s present
position? There he is, encamped with many legions and numberless
leaders. Whither he goes he is invincible and whither he looks he is
fearsome. He has taken Chianghsia already, as we see.”
The speaker was Yü Fan and Kʻung-ming replied, “Tsʻao has acquired the
swarms of Yüan Shao and stolen the crowds of Liu Piao. Yet I care not
for all his legions.”
Yü Fan smiled icily, “When you got thrashed at Tangyang and in
desperation sent this way and that to ask help, even then did you not
care? But do you think big talk really takes people in?”
“Liu had a few companies of scrupulous soldiers to oppose to a hundred
legions of fierce brutes. He retired to Hsiakʻou for breathing space.
The soldiers of Chiangtung are good and there are ample supplies and
the Long River is a defence. Is now a time for him to bend the knee
before a renegade, to be careless of his honour and reputation? As a
fact Liu is not the sort of man to fear such a rebel as Tsʻao.”
Yü Fan had nothing to reply. Next, one Pu Chih, who was among those
seated, said, “Will you talk of our land of Wu with a tongue like the
tongues of Chang I and Su Chʻin of old?”
Kʻung-ming replied, “You regard those two as mere speculative talkers:
you do not recognise them also as heroes. Su Chʻin bore the prime
minister’s seals of six federated states; Chang I was twice prime
Minister of Chʻin. Both were men of conspicuous ability who brought
about the reformation of their governments. They are not to be compared
with those who quail before the strong and overbear the weak, who fear
the dagger and run away from the sword. You, Sir, have listened to
Tsʻao Tsʻao’s crafty and empty rhodomontade and it has frightened you
into advising surrender. Dare you ridicule Su Chin and Chang I?”
Pu Chih was silenced. Then suddenly another interjected the question,
“What do you think of Tsʻao Tsʻao?”
It was Hsüeh Tsung who had spoken and Kʻung-ming replied, “Tsʻao is one
of the rebels against the dynasty; why ask about him?”
“You are mistaken,” said Hsüeh Tsung. “The Hans have outlasted their
allotted time and the end is near. Tsʻao already has two-thirds of the
empire and people are turning to him. Your master has not recognised
the fateful moment and to contend with a man so strong is to try to
smash stones with eggs. Failure is certain.”
Kʻung-ming angrily replied, “Why do you speak so undutifully, as if you
knew neither father nor prince? Loyalty and filial duty are the
essentials of a man’s being. For a minister of Han correct conduct
demands that one is pledged to the destruction of any one who does not
follow the canon of a minister’s duty. Tsʻao’s forbears enjoyed the
bounty of Han, but instead of showing gratitude, he nourishes in his
bosom thoughts of rebellion. The whole world is incensed against him
and yet you would claim for him the indication of destiny. Truly you
are a man who knows neither father nor prince, a man unworthy of any
words, and I decline to argue with you farther.”
The blush of shame overspread Hsüeh’s face and he said no more. But
another, one Lu Chi, took up the dispute and said, “Although Tsʻao
Tsʻao overawes the Emperor and in his name coerces the nobles, yet he
is the descendant of a minister, while your master, though he says he
is descended from a prince, has no proof thereof. In the eyes of the
world he is just a weaver of mats, a seller of straw shoes. Who is he
to strive with Tsʻao?”
Kʻung-ming laughed and replied, “Are you not that Lu who pocketed the
orange when you were sitting among Yüan Shao’s guests? Listen to me; I
have a word to say to you. Inasmuch as Tsʻao Tsʻao is a descendant of a
minister of state he is by heredity a servant of the Hans. But now he
has monopolised all state authority and knows only his own arbitrary
will, heaping every indignity upon his lord. Not only does he forget
his prince, but he ignores his ancestors; not only is he a rebellious
servant of Han, but the renegade of his family. Liu Pei of Yuchou is a
noble scion of the imperial family upon whom the Emperor has conferred
rank, as is recorded in the annals. How then can you say there is no
evidence of his imperial origin? Beside, the very founder of the
dynasty was himself of lowly origin, and yet he became emperor. Where
is the shame in weaving mats and selling shoes? Your mean, immature
views are unfit to be mentioned in the presence of scholars of
standing.”
This put a stop to Lu Chi’s flow of eloquence, but another of those
present said, “Kʻung-ming’s words are overbearing and he distorts
reason. It is not proper argument and he had better say no more. But I
would ask him what classical canon he studied.”
Kʻung-ming looked at his interlocutor, who was named Yen Chün, and
said, “The dryasdusts of every age select passages and choose phrases;
what else are they good for? Do they ever initiate a policy or manage
an affair? I Yin, who was a farmer in Hsin and Tzŭ-ya, the fisherman of
the Wei River, Chang Liang and Chʻên Pʻing, Têng Yü and Kêng Yen all
were men of transcendent ability, but I have never enquired what
classical canon they followed or on whose essays they formed their
style. Would you liken them to your rusty students of books, whose
journeyings are comprised between their brush and their inkstone, who
spend their days in literary futilities, wasting both time and ink?”
No reply was forthcoming; the speaker hung his head with shame. But
another disputant, Chʻêng Tê-shu by name, suddenly shouted, “You are
mightily fond of big words, Sir, but they do not give any proof of your
scholarship after all. I am inclined to think that a real scholar would
just laugh at you.”
Kʻung-ming replied, “There are scholars and scholars. There is the
noble scholar, loyal and patriotic, of perfect rectitude and a hater of
any crookedness. The concern of such a scholar is to act in full
sympathy with his day and leave to future ages a fine reputation. There
is the scholar of the mean type, a pedant and nothing more. He labours
constantly with his pen, in his callow youth composing odes and in
hoary age still striving to understand the classical books completely.
Thousands of words flow from his pen but there is not a solid idea in
his breast. He may, as did Yang Hsiung, glorify the age with his
writings and yet stoop to serve a tyrant such as Mang. No wonder Yang
threw himself out of a window; he had to. That is the way of the
scholar of mean type. Though he composes odes by the hundred, what is
the use of him?”
Chʻêng could make no reply. The other officers now began to hold this
man of torrential speech in wholesome fear. Only two of them had failed
to challenge him, but when they would have tried to pose Kʻung-ming,
suddenly some one appeared from without and angrily shouted, “This is
not paying fit respect to a guest. You have among you the most
wonderful man of the day and you all sit there trying to entangle him
in speech while our arch enemy Tsʻao Tsʻao is nearing our borders.
Instead of discussing how to oppose him you are all wrangling and
disputing.”
All eyes turned toward him; it was Huang Kai, of Lingling, who was
master of the commissariat of Wu. He turned to address Kʻung-ming,
saying, “There is a saying that though something may be gained by talk
there is more to be got by silence. Why not give my lord the advantage
of your valuable advice instead of wasting time in discussion with this
crowd?”
“They did not understand,” replied Kʻung-ming, “and it was necessary to
enlighten them, I had to speak.”
As Huang Kai and Lu Su led the guest toward their master’s apartments,
they met his brother Chuko Chin. Kʻung-ming saluted him with the
deference due to an elder brother and Chin said, “Why have you not been
to see me, brother?”
“I am now in the service of Liu of Yü chou and it is right that public
affairs precede private obligations. I cannot attend to any private
matters till my work is done. You must pardon me, brother.”
“After you have seen the Marquis you will come and tell me your news,”
said he as he left.
As they went along to the audience chamber Lu Su again cautioned
Kʻung-ming against any rash speech. The latter nodded but made no other
reply. When they reached the hall Sun Chʻüan came down the steps to
welcome his guests and was extraordinarily gracious. After the mutual
salutations the guest was given a chair while the Marquis’s officials
were drawn up in two lines, on one side the civil, on the other the
military. Lu Su stood beside Kʻung-ming and listened to his
introductory speech.
As Kʻung-ming spoke of Yüan-tê’s intentions, he glanced up at his host.
He noted the grey eyes and brown beard and the dignified commanding air
of the man and thought within himself, “Certainly in appearance this is
no common man. He is one to be incited perhaps, but not to be
persuaded. It will be better to see what he has to say first, then I
will try to stir him to action.”
The serving of tea being now finished, Sun Chʻüan began with the usual
gracious ceremonial expressions.
“Lu Su has often spoken of your genius” said the host; “it is a great
pleasure to meet you. I trust you will confer upon me the advantage of
your instruction.”
“I am neither clever nor learned” was the reply, “it humiliates me to
hear such words.”
“You have been at Hsinyeh lately and you helped your master to fight
that decisive battle with Tsʻao Tsʻao, so you must know exactly the
measure of his military strength.”
“My master’s army was small and his generals were few; the city was
paltry and lacked supplies. Hence no stand could be made against such a
force as Tsʻao Tsʻao had.”
“How many men has he in all?”
“Horse and foot, land and marine, he has a hundred legions.”
“Is there not some doubt about that?” said Sun Chʻüan.
“None whatever; when Tsʻao Tsʻao went to Yenchou he had the twenty
legions of Chingchou. He gained fifty or sixty legions when Yüan Shao
fell. He has thirty or forty legions newly recruited in the capital.
Lately he has acquired twenty or thirty legions in Chingchou. And if
these be reckoned up the total is not less than a hundred and fifty.
Hence I said a hundred for I was afraid of frightening your officers.”
Lu Su was much disturbed and turned pale. He looked meaningly at the
bold speaker, but Kʻung-ming would not see. Sun Chʻüan went on to ask
if his arch enemy had a corresponding number of leaders.
“He has enough administrators and strategists to control such a host
and his capable and veteran leaders are more than a thousand; perhaps
more than two thousand.”
“What will be Tsʻao Tsʻao’s next move now that he has overcome
Chingchou and Chʻu?”
“He is camped along the river and he has collected a fleet. If he does
not intend to invade your territory, what can be his intentions?”
“Since that is his intention, it is a case of fight or not fight. I
wish you would decide that for me.”
“I have something I could say, but I fear, Sir, you would not care to
hear it.”
“I am desirous of hearing your most valuable opinion.”
“Strife has prevailed for a long time and so you should raise your army
and Liu Pei should collect his forces south of the Han River, to act
with you in contest for the empire against Tsʻao Tsʻao. Now Tsʻao has
overcome most of his difficulties and his recent conquest of Chingchou
has won him great and wide renown. Though there might be one bold
enough to tackle him, yet there is no foothold for such. That is how
Liu Pei has been forced to come here. But, General, I wish you to
measure your forces and decide whether you can venture to meet him and
that without loss of time. If you cannot, then follow the advice of
your councillors; cease your military preparations and yield; turn your
face to the north and serve.”
Sun Chʻüan did not reply. But his guest went on, “You have the
reputation of being reasonable but I know also you are inclined to
hesitate. Still this matter is most important and evil will be quickly
upon you if you do not decide.”
Then replied Sun, “If what you say represents the actual conditions,
why does not Liu Pei yield?”
“Well, you know Tsʻien Hêng, that hero of the state of Chʻi; his
character was too noble for him to submit to any shame. It is necessary
to remember that Liu Pei also is an off-shoot from the dynastic family,
beside being a man of great renown. Every one looks up to him. His lack
of success is simply the will of Heaven but manifestly he could not bow
the knee to any one.”
These last words touched Sun Chʻüan to the quick and he could not
control his anger. He shook out his sleeves, rose and left the audience
chamber. Those present smiled at each other as they dispersed.
But Lu Su was annoyed and reproached Kʻung-ming for his maladroit way
of talking to Sun. “Luckily for you my lord is too large-minded to
rebuke you to your face for you spoke to him most contemptuously.”
Kʻung-ming threw back his head and laughed. “What a sensitive fellow it
is!” cried he. “I know how Tsʻao Tsʻao could be destroyed, but he never
asked me; so I said nothing.”
“If you really do know how that could be done I will certainly beg my
lord to ask you.”
“Tsʻao Tsʻao’s hosts in my eyes are but as swarms of ants. I have but
to lift my hand and they will be crushed.”
Lu Su at once went into his master’s private room, where he found him
still very irritable and angry. “Kʻung-ming insulted me too deeply,”
said Sun.
“I have already reproached him,” said Lu Su, “and he laughed and said
you were too sensitive. He would not give you any advice without being
asked for it. Why did you not seek advice from him, my lord?”
At once Sun’s anger changed to joy. He said, “So he had a plan ready
and his words were meant to provoke me. I did despise him for a moment
and it has very nearly lost me.”
So he returned to the audience chamber where the guest was still seated
and begged Kʻung-ming to continue his speech. He spoke courteously
saying, “I offended you just now, I hope you are not implacable.”
“And I also was rude,” replied Kʻung-ming. “I entreat pardon.”
Host and guest retired to the inner room where wine was served. After
it had gone round several times, Sun Chʻüan said, “The enemies of Tsʻao
Tsʻao were Lü Pu, Liu Piao, Yüan Shao, Yüan Shu, his brother, Liu Pei
and my poor self. Now most of these are gone and only Liu Pei and I
remain. I will never allow the land of Wu to be dictated to by another.
The only one who could have withstood Tsʻao Tsʻao was Liu Pei, but he
has been defeated lately and what can he do now against such force?”
Kʻung-ming replied, “Although defeated, Liu Pei still has Kuan Yü with
a legion of veterans. And Liu Chʻi still leads the men of Chianghsia,
another legion. Tsʻao Tsʻao’s army is far from home and the men are
worn out. They made a frantic effort to come up with my master, and the
light horse marched three hundred li in a day and a night. This was the
final kick of the crossbow spring and the bolt was not swift enough to
penetrate even the thin silken vesture of Lu. The army can do no more.
They are northern men, unskilled in water warfare, and the men of
Chingchou are unwilling supporters. They have no desire to help Tsʻao.
Now if you, General, will assist Liu Pei, Tsʻao will certainly be
broken and he must retire northwards. Then your country and Chingchou
will be strong and firmly established. But the scheme must be carried
out without delay and only you can decide.”
Sun Chʻüan joyfully replied, “Your words, master, open up the road
clearly. I have decided and shall have no further doubts.”
So the orders were issued forthwith to prepare for a joint attack on
Tsʻao Tsʻao. And he bade Lu Su bear the news of his decision to all his
officers. He himself escorted Kʻung-ming to the guest quarters and saw
to his comfort.
When Chang Chao heard of the decision he met his colleagues and said to
them, “He has fallen into the trap set by this Kʻung-ming.”
They went in a body to their lord and said, “We hear you are going to
attack Tsʻao Tsʻao; but how do you stand when compared with Yüan Shao?
In those days Tsʻao was comparatively weak and yet he overcame. What is
he like to-day with his countless legions? He is not to be lightly
attacked and to listen to Chuko Liang’s advice to engage in a conflict
is like carrying fuel to a fire.”
Sun Chʻüan made no reply and Ku Yung took up the argument. “Liu Pei has
been defeated and he wants to borrow our help to beat his enemy. Why
must our lord lend himself to his schemes? Pray listen to our leader’s
words.”
Doubts again surged up in the mind of Sun Chʻüan. When the troop of
advisers had retired, Lu Su came in saying, “They came to exhort you
not to fight, but to compel you to surrender simply because they wish
to secure the safety of their families. They distort their sense of
duty to serve their own ends and I hope you will not take their
advice.”
Sun Chʻüan being sunk in thought and saying nothing, Lu Su went on, “if
you hesitate you will certainly be led astray by the majority and——”
“Retire for a time,” said his master. “I must think it over carefully.”
So Lu Su left the chamber. Among the soldiers some wished for war, but
of the civil officers, all were in favour of surrender and so there
were many discussions and much conflict of opinion. Sun Chʻüan went to
his private apartments greatly perplexed. There his worry was easily
discernible and he neither ate nor slept. He was quite unable to decide
finally upon a course of action.
Then the Lady Wu asked him what so troubled him, and he told her of the
threatened danger and the different opinions his advisers held one and
another and all his doubts and fears. If he fought, he might fail; and
if he offered to surrender, perhaps Tsʻao Tsʻao would reject his
proposal.
Then she replied, “Have you forgotten the last words of my sister?”
As to one recovering from a fit of drunkenness, or waking out of a
dream, so came to him the dying words of the mother who bore him.
His mother’s advice he called to mind,
“In Chou Yü’s counsels you safety find.”
What happened will be told in the next chapter.