TSʻAO TSʻAO LOSES SOLDIERS:
CHIANG KAN VICTIM OF A RUSE.
Chou Yü was very annoyed by the words of Chuko Chin and a fierce hatred
for Kʻung-ming took root in his heart. He nourished a secret resolve to
make away with him. He continued his preparations for war and when the
men were all mustered and ready he went in for a farewell interview
with his lord.
“You go on first, noble Sir,” said Sun Chʻüan. “I will then march to
support you.”
Chou Yü took his leave and then, with Chʻêng Pʻu and Lu Su, marched out
with the army. He invited Kʻung-ming to accompany the expedition, and
when he cheerfully accepted, the four embarked in the same ship. They
set sail and the flotilla made for Hsiakʻou.
About sixty li from “Three River Mouths” the fleet anchored near the
shore and Chou Yü built a stockade on the bank near the middle of their
line with the West Hills as a support. Other camps were made near his.
Kʻung-ming, however, took up his quarters in a small ship.
When the camp dispositions were complete Chou Yü sent to request
Kʻung-ming to come and give him advice. He came, and after the
salutations were ended Chou Yü said, “Tsʻao Tsʻao thought he had fewer
troops than Yüan Shao, nevertheless overcame him because he followed
the advice given by Hsü Yu to destroy his supplies. Now Tsʻao Tsʻao has
over eighty legions while I have but five or six. In order to defeat
him his supplies must be destroyed first. I have found out that the
main depôt is at Chütʻieh Hill. As you have lived hereabout you know
the topography quite well and I wish to entrust the task of cutting off
supplies to you and your colleagues Kuan Yü, Chang Fei and Chao Yün. I
will assist you with a company. I wish you to start without delay. In
this way we can best serve our masters.”
Kʻung-ming saw through this at once. He thought to himself, “This is a
ruse in revenge for my not having been persuaded to enter the service
of Wu. If I refuse I shall be laughed at. So I will do as he asks and
trust to find some means of deliverance from the evil he intends.”
Therefore he accepted the task with alacrity, much to the joy of Chou
Yü. After the leader of the expedition had taken his leave, Lu Su went
to Chou Yü secretly and said, “Why have you set him this task?”
“Because I wish to compass his death without appearing ridiculous. I
hope to get him killed by the hand of Tsʻao Tsʻao and prevent his doing
further mischief.”
Lu Su left and went to see Kʻung-ming to find out if he suspected
anything. He found him looking quite unconcerned and getting the
soldiers ready to march. Unable to hold his tongue, however, he put a
tentative question, “Do you think this expedition will succeed?”
Kʻung-ming laughingly replied, “I am an adept at all sorts of fighting,
with foot, horse and chariots on land and on the water. There is no
doubt of my success. I am not like you and your friend, only capable in
one direction.”
“What do you mean by our being capable only in one direction?” said Lu
Su.
“I have heard the street boys in your country singing:—
To lay an ambush, hold a pass,
Lu Su is the man to choose;
But when you on the water fight,
Chou Yü is the man to use.
You are only fit for ambushes and guarding passes on land, just as he
only understands fighting on the water.”
Lu Su carried this story to Chou Yü, which only incensed him the more
against Kʻung-ming.
“How dare he flout me, saying I cannot fight a land battle? I will not
let him go. I will go myself with a legion and cut off Tsʻao Tsʻao’s
supplies.”
Lu Su went back and told this to Kʻung-ming, who smiled and said, “He
only wanted me to go on this expedition because he wanted Tsʻao Tsʻao
to kill me. And so I teased him a little. But he cannot bear that. Now
is the critical moment and the Marquis Wu and my master must act in
harmony if we are to succeed. If each one tries to harm the other the
whole scheme will fail. Tsʻao Tsʻao is no fool and it is a usual thing
with him to attack an enemy through his supplies. Do you not think he
has already taken double precautions against any surprise of his own
depôt? If Chou Yü tries he will be taken prisoner. What he ought to do
is to bring about a decisive naval battle, whereby to dishearten the
northern men, and then find some other means to defeat them utterly. If
you could persuade him what was his best course it would be well.”
Without loss of time, Lu Su went to Chou Yü to relate what Kʻung-ming
had told him. Chou shook his head when he heard it and beat the ground
with his foot, saying, “This man is far too clever; he beats me fifty
to one. He will have to be done away with or my country will suffer.”
Said Lu Su, “This is the moment to use men; you must think of the
country’s good first of all. When once Tsʻao Tsʻao is defeated you may
do as you please.”
Chou had to confess the reasonableness of this.
It is now time to speak of Liu Pei. He had ordered his nephew Liu Chʻi
to hold Chianghsia while he and the bulk of the army returned to
Hsiakʻou. Thence he saw the opposite bank thick with banners and flags
and glittering with every kind of arms and armour. He knew then that
the expedition from Wu had started. So he moved all his force from
Chianghsia to Fankʻou.
Then he assembled his officers and said to them, “Kʻung-ming went to Wu
some time ago and no word has come from him, so I know not how the
business stands. Will any one volunteer to go to find out?”
“I will go,” said Mi Chu.
So presents were prepared and gifts of flesh and wine, and Mi Chu
prepared to journey to Wu on the pretext of offering a congratulatory
feast to the army. Mi Chu set out in a small ship and went down river.
He stopped opposite the camp and the soldiers reported his arrival to
Chou Yü, who ordered him to be brought in. Mi Chu bowed low and
expressed the respect which Liu Pei had for Chou Yü and offered the
various gifts. The ceremony of reception was followed by a banquet in
honour of Mi Chu. Mi said, “Kʻung-ming has been here a long time and I
desire that he may return with me.”
“Kʻung-ming is making plans with me and I could not let him return,”
said Chou Yü. “I also wish to see Liu Pei that we may make joint plans,
but when one is at the head of a great army one cannot get away even
for a moment. If your master would only come here it would be very
gracious on his part.”
Mi Chu agreed that Liu Pei might come and presently took his leave.
Then Lu Su asked Chou Yü the reason for his desiring Liu Pei to come.
“Liu Yüan-tê is the one bold and dangerous man and must be removed. I
am taking this opportunity to persuade him to come, and when he shall
be slain a great danger will cease to threaten our country.”
Lu Su tried to dissuade him from this scheme but Chou Yü was deaf to
all he said. He even issued orders for half a hundred executioners to
be ready to hide within the lining of his tent if Liu Pei decided to
come and arranged to drop a cup as a signal for them to fall on and
slay him.
Mi Chu returned and told Liu Pei that his presence was desired by Chou
Yü. Suspecting nothing Liu Pei at once ordered them to prepare a fast
vessel to take him without loss of time. Kuan Yü was opposed to his
going saying that Chou Yü was artful and treacherous and there was no
news from Kʻung-ming.
Yüan-tê replied, “I have joined my forces to theirs in this attack on
our common enemy. If Chou Yü wishes to see me and I refuse to go, it is
a betrayal. Nothing will succeed if both sides nourish suspicions.”
“If you have finally decided to go, then will I go with you,” said Kuan
Yü.
“And I also,” cried Chang Fei.
But Yüan-tê said, “Let Kuan Yü come with me while you and Chao Yün keep
guard. Chien Yung will hold Ohsien. I shall not be away long.”
So leaving these orders, Liu Pei embarked with his brother on a small
boat. The escort did not exceed a score. The light craft travelled very
quickly down the river. Liu Pei rejoiced greatly at the sight of the
war vessels in tiers by the bank, the soldiers in their breastplates
and all the pomp and panoply of war. All was in excellent order.
As soon as he arrived the guards ran to tell Chou Yü.
“How many ships has he?” asked Chou.
They replied, “Only one; and the escort is only about a score.”
“His fate is sealed,” said Chou Yü.
He sent for the executioners and placed them in hiding between the
outer and inner tents, and when all was arranged for the assassination
he contemplated, he went out to receive his visitor. Liu Pei came with
his brother and escort into the midst of the army to the Commander’s
tent. After the salutations Chou Yü wished Liu Pei to take the upper
seat, but he declined saying, “General, you are famous through all the
country, while I am a nobody. Do not overwhelm me with too great
deference.”
So they took the positions of simple friends and refreshments were
brought in.
Now by chance Kʻung-ming came on shore and heard that his master had
arrived and was with the Commander-in-Chief. The news gave him a great
shock and he said to himself, “What is to be done now?” He made his way
to the reception tent and stole a look therein. He saw murder written
on Chou Yü’s countenance and noted the assassins hidden within the
walls of the tent. Then he got a look at Liu Pei, who was laughing and
talking quite unconcernedly. But when he noticed the redoubtable figure
of Kuan Yü near his master’s side he became quite calm and contented.
“No danger,” said he, and he went away to the river bank to await the
end of the interview.
Meanwhile the banquet of welcome proceeded. After the wine had gone
around several times Chou Yü picked up a cup to give the signal agreed
upon. But at that moment he saw so fierce a look upon the face of the
trusty henchman who stood, sword in hand, behind his guest, that he
hesitated and hastily asked who he was.
“That is my brother, Kuan Yün-chʻang,” replied Yüan-tê.
Chou Yü, quite startled, said, “Is he the slayer of Yen Liang and Wên
Chʻou?”
“Exactly; he it is,” replied Liu Pei.
The sweat of fear broke out all over Chou Yü’s body and trickled down
his back. Then he poured out a cup of wine and presented it to Kuan Yü.
Just then Lu Su came in and Yüan-tê said to him, “Where is Kʻung-ming?
I would trouble you to ask him to come.”
“Wait till we have defeated Tsʻao Tsʻao,” said Chou Yü, “then you shall
see him.”
Yüan-tê dared not repeat his request, but Kuan Yü gave him a meaning
look which Yüan-tê understood and rose, saying, “I would take leave
now; I will come again to congratulate you when the enemy has been
defeated and your success shall be complete.”
Chou Yü did not press him to remain, but escorted him to the great
gates of the camp, and Yüan-tê left. When he reached the river bank
they found Kʻung-ming awaiting them in their boat.
Yüan-tê was exceedingly pleased but Kʻung-ming said, “Sir, do you know
in how great danger you were to-day?”
Suddenly sobered, Yüan-tê said, “No; I did not think of danger.”
“If Yün-chʻang had not been there you would have been killed,” said
Kʻung-ming.
Yüan-tê, after a moment’s reflection, saw that it was true. He begged
Kʻung-ming to return with him to Fanchʻêng, but he refused. “I am quite
safe,” said he. “Although I am living in the tiger’s mouth, I am as
steady as Mount Tʻai. Now, my lord, return and prepare your ships and
men. On the twentieth day of the eleventh month send Chao Yün with a
small ship to the south bank to wait for me. Be sure there is no
miscarriage.”
“What are your intentions?” said Yüan-tê.
“When the south-east wind begins I shall have to return.”
Yüan-tê would have questioned him further, but Kʻung-ming pressed him
to go. So the boat started up river again while Kʻung-ming returned to
his temporary lodging.
The boat had not proceeded far when appeared a small fleet sweeping
down with the current, and in the prow of the leading vessel stood a
tall figure armed with a spear. It was Chang Fei, who had come down
fearing lest his brother might be in some difficulty from which the
strong arm of Kuan Yü might even be insufficient to rescue him.
Of the return of the three brothers nothing will be said. After Chou
Yü, having escorted Yüan-tê to the gate of his camp, had returned to
his quarters Lu Su soon came to see him.
“When you had cajoled Yüan-tê into coming, why did you not carry out
your plan?” asked Lu.
“Because of that Kuan Yü; he is a very tiger and he never left his
brother for a moment. If anything had been attempted he would certainly
have had my life.”
Lu Su knew that he spoke the truth. Then suddenly they announced a
messenger with a letter from Tsʻao Tsʻao. Chou Yü ordered them to bring
him in and took the letter. But when he saw the superscription “The
First Minister of Han to Commander-in-Chief Chou,” he fell into a
frenzy of rage, tore the letter to fragments and threw them on the
ground.
“To death with this fellow!” cried he.
“When two countries are at war their emissaries are not slain,” said
Lu.
“Messengers are slain to show one’s dignity and independence,” replied
Chou.
The unhappy bearer of the letter was decapitated and his head sent back
to Tsʻao Tsʻao by the hands of his escort.
Chou Yü then decided to move. The van under Kan Ning was to advance,
supported by two wings. Chou Yü would lead the remainder in support.
The next morning the early meal was eaten in the fourth watch and the
ships got under weigh in the fifth with a great beating of drums.
Tsʻao Tsʻao was greatly angered when he heard that his letter had been
torn to fragments and he resolved to attack forthwith. His advance was
led by Tsʻai Mao and others of the Chingchou officers who had joined
his side. He went as hastily as possible to the meeting of the three
rivers and saw the ships of Wu sailing up. In the bow of the foremost
ship stood a fine figure of a warrior who cried, “I am Kan Ning; I
challenge any one to combat.”
Tsʻai Mao sent his young brother to accept the challenge, but as his
ship approached Kan Ning shot an arrow and Tsʻai Hsün fell. Kan Ning
pressed forward, his crossbowmen keeping up a heavy discharge which
Tsʻao’s men could not stand. The wings also joined in.
Tsʻao’s men, being mostly from the dry plains of the north, did not
know how to fight effectually on water and the southern ships had the
battle all their own way. The slaughter was very great. However, after
a contest lasting till afternoon Chou Yü thought it more prudent, in
view of the superior numbers of his enemy, not to risk further the
advantage he had gained. So he beat the gongs as the signal to cease
battle and recall the ships.
Tsʻao was worsted, but his ships returned to the bank, where a camp was
made and order was restored. Tsʻao sent for his defeated leaders and
reproached them saying, “You did not do your best. You let an inferior
force overcome you.”
Tsʻai Mao defended himself saying, “The Chingchou marines have not been
exercised for a long time and the others have never been trained for
naval warfare at all. A naval camp must be instituted, the northern men
trained and the Chingchou men drilled. When they have been made
efficient they will win victories.”
“If you know what should be done, why have you not done it?” said Tsʻao
Tsʻao. “What is the use of telling me this? Get to work.”
So Tsʻai Mao and Chang Yün organised a naval camp on the river bank.
They established twenty-four “Water Gates,” with the large ships
outside as a sort of rampart, and under their protection the smaller
ships went to and fro freely. At night when the lanterns and torches
were lit the very sky was illuminated and the water shone red with the
glare. On land the smoke of the camp fires could be traced for three
hundred li without a break.
Chou Yü returned to camp and feasted his victorious fighting men. A
messenger bore the joyful tidings of victory to his master in Wu. When
night fell Chou Yü went up to the summit of one of the hills and looked
out over the long line of bright lights stretching toward the west,
showing the extent of the enemy’s camp. He said nothing, but a great
fear came in upon him.
Next day Chou Yü decided that he would go in person to find out the
strength of the enemy. So he bade them prepare a small squadron which
he manned with strong, hardy men armed with powerful bows and stiff
crossbows. He also placed musicians on each ship. They set sail and
started up the stream. When they got opposite Tsʻao Tsʻao’s camp the
heavy stones that served as anchors were dropped and the drums and
trumpets began while Chou Yü scanned the enemy’s naval camp. What he
saw gave him no satisfaction for everything was most admirable. He
enquired whether any one knew the names of the admirals and they told
him Tsʻai Mao and Chang Yün.
“They have lived in our country a long time,” said he, “and are
thoroughly experienced in naval warfare. I must find some means of
removing them before I can effect anything.”
Meanwhile on shore the sentinels had told Tsʻao that the enemy craft
were spying upon them and he ordered out some ships to capture the
spies. Chou Yü saw the commotion on shore and hastily gave the order to
unmoor and sail down stream. The squadron at once got under way and
scattered; to and fro went the oars and each ship seemed to fly. Before
Tsʻao’s ships could get out after them they were all far away. Tsʻao’s
ships took up the chase but soon saw pursuit was useless. They returned
and reported their failure.
Again Tsʻao found fault with his officers and said, “The other day you
lost a battle and the soldiers were greatly dispirited. Now the enemy
have spied out our camp. What can be done?”
In eager response to his question one stepped out, saying, “When I was
a youth Chou Yü and I were fellow students and pledged friends. My
three-inch tongue is still good and I will go over and persuade him to
surrender.”
Tsʻao, rejoiced to find so speedy a solution, looked at the speaker. It
was Chiang Kan of Kiukiang, one of the secretary staff in the camp.
“Are you a good friend of Chou Yü’s?” said Tsʻao.
“Rest contented, O Minister,” replied Kan. “If I only get on the other
side of the river I shall succeed.”
“What preparations are necessary?” asked Tsʻao.
“Just a youth as my servant and a couple of rowers; nothing else.”
Tsʻao offered him wine, wished him success and sent him on his way.
Clad in a simple white robe and seated in his little craft, the
messenger reached Chou Yü’s camp and bade the men say that an old
friend Chiang Kan wished to see him. The commander was in his tent at a
council when the message came, and he laughed as he said to those about
him, “A guest is coming.” Then he whispered certain instructions in the
ear of each one of them and they went out to await his arrival.
Chou Yü received his friend in full ceremonial garb. A crowd of
officers in rich silken robes were about him. The guest appeared, his
sole attendant a lad dressed in a simple blue gown. He bore himself
proudly as he advanced and Chou Yü made a low obeisance.
“You have been well I hope since last we met,” said Chiang Kan.
“You have wandered far and suffered much in this task of emissary in
the Tsʻao cause,” said Chou.
“I have not seen you for a very long time,” said the envoy much taken
aback, “and I came to visit you for the sake of old times. Why do you
call me an emissary for the Tsʻao cause?”
“Though I am not so clever a musician as Shih Kuang, yet I can
comprehend the thought behind the music,” replied Chou.
“As you choose to treat your old friend like this I think I will take
my leave,” said Chiang.
Chou Yü laughed again and taking Kan by the arm, said, “Well, I feared
you might be coming on his behalf to try to persuade me. But if this is
not your intention, you need not go away so hastily.”
So they two entered the tent; and when they had exchanged salutes and
were seated as friends, Chou Yü bade them call his officers that he
might introduce them. They soon appeared civil and military officials,
all dressed in their best. The military officers were clad in
glittering silver armour and the staff looked very imposing as they
stood ranged in two lines.
The visitor was introduced to them all. Presently a banquet was spread,
and while they feasted the musicians played songs of victory and the
wine circulated merrily. Under its mellowing influence Chou Yü’s
reserve seemed to thaw and he said, “He is an old fellow student of
mine and we are pledged friends. Though he has arrived here from the
north he is no artful pleader so you need not be afraid of him.”
Then he took off the sword which he wore as Commander-in-Chief and
handed it to Tʻaishih Tzŭ, saying, “You take this and wear it for the
day as master of the feast. This day we meet only as friends and if any
one shall begin a discussion of the questions at issue between Tsʻao
Tsʻao and our country just slay him.”
Tʻaishih Tzŭ took the sword and seated himself in his place. The guest
was not a little overcome, but he said no word.
Chou Yü said, “Since I assumed command I have tasted no drop of wine,
but to-day as an old friend is present and there is no reason to fear
him, I am going to drink freely.”
So saying he quaffed a huge goblet and laughed loudly.
The rhinoceros cups went swiftly round from guest to guest till all
were half drunk. Then Chou Yü, laying hold of the guest’s hand, led him
outside the tent. The guards who stood around all braced themselves up
and seized their weapons.
“Do you not think my soldiers a fine lot of fellows?” said Chou.
“Strong as bears and bold as tigers,” replied Chiang Kan.
Then Chou Yü led him to the rear of the tent whence he saw the grain
and forage piled up in mountainous heaps.
“Do you not think I have a fairly good store of grain and forage?”
“It is quite true as I have heard that your men are brave and your
supplies ample.”
Chou Yü pretended to be quite intoxicated and went on, “When you and I
were students together, we never looked forward to a day like this did
we?”
“For a genius like you it is nothing extraordinary,” said the guest.
Chou Yü again seized his hand and they sat down. “When a really great
man has found his proper lord then, in his service, he relies upon the
right feeling between prince and minister outside, and at home he is
firm in the kindly feeling of relatives. His words must be obeyed, his
plans must be followed out. He is independent of good or evil fortune.
He takes as his models such men as Su Chʻin, Chang I, Lu Chia and Li
Shêng so that they seem to live again. His words pour forth like a
rushing river, his tongue is as a sharp sword. Is it possible to move
such as I am?”
He burst into a loud laugh as he finished and Chiang Kan’s face had
become clay-coloured. Chou Yü then led his guest back into the tent and
again they fell to drinking. Presently he pointed to the others at
table and said, “These are all the best and bravest of the land of Wu;
one might call this ‘The Meeting of Heroes’.”
They drank on till daylight failed and continued after lamps had been
lit. Chou Yü even gave an exhibition of sword play and sang this song:—
When a man is in the world, O,
He ought to do his best.
And when he’s done his best, O,
He ought to have his rest.
And when I have my rest, O,
I’ll quaff my wine with zest.
And when I’m drunk as drunk can be,
I’ll sing the madman’s litany.
A burst of applause greeted the song. By this time it was getting late
and the guest begged to be excused. “The wine is too much for me,” said
he. His host bade them clear the table and as all the others left Chou
Yü said, “It is many a day since I shared a couch with my friend, but
we will do so to-night.”
Putting on the appearance of irresponsible intoxication he led Chiang
Kan into the tent and they went to bed. Chou Yü simply fell, all
dressed as he was, and lay there emitting uncouth grunts and groans, so
that to the guest sleep was impossible. He lay and listened to the
various camp noises without and his host’s thund’rous snores within.
About the second watch he rose and looked at his friend by the dim
light of the small lamp. He also saw on the table a heap of papers and
looking at them furtively, saw they were letters. Among them he saw one
marked as coming from Chang Yün and Tsʻai Mao. He read it and this is
what it said:—“We surrendered to Tsʻao Tsʻao, not for the sake of pay
but under stress of circumstances. Now we have fooled these northern
soldiers into admitting us to their camp but, as soon as occasion
offers, we mean to have the rebel’s head to offer as a sacrifice to
your banner. From time to time there will be reports as occasions serve
but you may trust us. This is our humble reply to your letter.”
“Those two were connected with Wu in the beginning,” thought Chiang
Kan, so he secreted the letter in his dress and began to examine the
others. But at that moment Chou Yü turned over and so Kan hastily blew
out the light and went to his couch.
Chou Yü was muttering as he lay there and his guest, carefully
listening, made out, “Friend, I am going to let you see Tsʻao’s head in
a day or two.”
Chiang Kan hastily made some reply to lead on his host to say more.
Then came, “Wait a few days; you will see Tsʻao’s head. The old
wretch!”
Chiang tried to question him as to what he meant, but Chou Yü was fast
asleep and seemed to hear nothing. Chiang lay there on his couch wide
awake till the fourth watch was beating. Then some one came in, saying,
“General, are you awake?” At that moment as if suddenly awakened from
the deepest slumber, Chou Yü started up and said, “Who is this on the
couch?”
The voice replied, “Do you not remember, General? You asked your old
friend to stay the night with you; it is he, of course.”
“I drank too much last night,” said Chou Yü in a regretful tone, “and I
forgot. I seldom indulge to excess and am not used to it. Perhaps I
said many things I ought not.”
The voice went on, “A man has arrived from the north.”
“Speak lower,” said Chou Yü, and turning toward the sleeper he called
him by name. But Chiang Kan affected to be sound asleep and made no
sign.
Chou Yü crept out of the tent, while Kan listened with all his ears. He
heard the man say, “Chang and Tsʻai, the two commanders, have come.”
But listening as he did with straining ears he could not make out what
followed. Soon after Chou Yü re-entered and again called out his
companion’s name. But no reply came, for Chiang Kan was pretending to
be in the deepest slumber and to hear nothing. Then Chou Yü undressed
and went to bed.
As Chiang Kan lay awake he remembered that Chou Yü was known to be
meticulously careful in affairs and if in the morning he found that a
letter had disappeared he would certainly slay the offender. So he lay
there till near daylight and then called out to his host. Getting no
reply he rose, dressed and stole out of the tent. Then he called his
servant and made for the camp gate.
“Whither are you going, Sir?” said the watchmen at the gate.
“I fear I am in the way here,” replied Kan, “and so I have taken leave
of the General for a time. So do not stop me.”
He found his way to the river bank and re-embarked. Then, with flying
oars, he hastened back to Tsʻao’s camp. When he arrived Tsʻao asked at
once how he had sped and he had to acknowledge failure.
“Chou Yü is very clever and perfectly high-minded,” said he, “nothing
that I could say moved him in the least.”
“Your failure makes me look ridiculous,” said Tsʻao.
“Well, if I did not win over Chou Yü, I found out something for you.
Send away these people and I will tell you,” said Chiang.
The servants were dismissed and then Chiang Kan produced the letter he
had stolen from Chou Yü’s tent. He gave it to Tsʻao. Tsʻao was very
angry and sent for the two at once. As soon as they appeared he said,
“I want you two to attack.”
Tsʻai Mao replied, “But the men are not yet sufficiently trained.”
“The men will be well enough trained when you have sent my head to Chou
Yü, eh?”
Both officers were dumb-founded, having not the least idea what this
meant. They remained silent for they had nothing to say. Tsʻao bade the
executioners lead them away to instant death. In a short time their
heads were produced.
By this time Tsʻao had thought over the matter and it dawned upon him
that he had been tricked. A poem says:—
No one could stand against Tsʻao Tsʻao,
Of sin he had full share,
But Chou Yü was more treacherous,
And caught him in a snare.
Two officers to save their lives,
Betrayed a former lord,
Soon after, as was very meet,
Both fell beneath the sword.
The death of these two naval commanders caused much consternation in
the camp and all their colleagues asked the reason for their sudden
execution. Though Tsʻao knew he had been victimised he would not
acknowledge it. So he said the two men had been remiss and so had been
put to death. The others were aghast, but nothing could be done. Two
other officers, Mao and Yü by name, were put in command of the naval
camp.
Spies took the news to Chou Yü, who was delighted at the success of his
ruse.
“Those two were my only source of anxiety,” said he. “Now they are
gone, I am quite happy.”
Lu Su said, “General, if you can continue like this you need not fear
Tsʻao.”
“I do not think any of them saw my game,” said Chou Yü, “except Chuko
Liang. He beats me, and I do not think this ruse was hidden from him.
You go and sound him. See if he knew.”
Chou’s treacherous plot succeeded well,
Dissension sown, his rivals fell.
Drunk with success was he, but sought
To know what cynic Kʻung-ming thought.
What passed between Lu Su and Kʻung-ming will next be related.