KʻUNG-MING “BORROWS” SOME ARROWS:
HUANG KAI ACCEPTS A PUNISHMENT.
The gossip Lu Su departed on his mission and found Kʻung-ming seated in
his little craft.
“There has been so much to do that I have not been able to come to
listen to your instruction,” said Lu Su.
“That is truly so,” said Kʻung-ming, “and I have not yet congratulated
the Commander-in-Chief.”
“What have you wished to congratulate him upon?”
“Why Sir, the matter upon which he sent you to find out whether I knew
about it or not. Indeed I can congratulate him on that.”
Lu Su turned pale and gasped. “But how did you know, Master?”
“The ruse succeeded well thus played off on Chiang Kan. Tsʻao has been
taken in this once, but he will soon rise to it. Only he will not
confess his mistake. However, the two men are gone and your country is
freed from a grave anxiety. Do you not think that a matter for
congratulation? I hear Mao Chieh and Yü Chin are the new admirals, and
in their hands lie both good and evil for the fate of the fleet.”
Lu Su was quite dumbfounded; he stayed a little time longer passing the
time in making empty remarks, and then took his leave. As he was going
away Kʻung-ming cautioned him against letting Chou Yü know that his new
rival had guessed his ruse. “I know he is jealous and he only seeks
some chance to do me harm.”
Lu Su promised; nevertheless he went straight to his chief and related
the whole thing just as it happened.
“Really he must be got rid of,” said Chou Yü, “I have quite decided to
put the man out of the way.”
“If you slay him, will not Tsʻao Tsʻao laugh at you?”
“Oh, no; I will find a legitimate way of getting rid of him so that he
shall go to his death without resentment.”
“But how can you find a legitimate way of assassinating him?”
“Do not ask too much; you will see presently.”
Soon after all the officers were summoned to the main tent and
Kʻung-ming’s presence was desired. He went contentedly enough. When all
were seated Chou Yü suddenly addressed Kʻung-ming, saying, “I am going
to fight a battle with the enemy soon on the water: what weapons are
the best?”
“On the great river arrows are the best,” said Kʻung-ming.
“Your opinion and mine agree. But at the moment we are short of them. I
wish you would undertake to supply about a hundred thousand for the
naval fight. As it is for the public service you will not decline, I
hope!”
“Whatever task the Commander-in-Chief lays upon me I must certainly try
to perform,” replied Kʻung-ming. “May I enquire by what date you
require the hundred thousand arrows?”
“Could you have them ready in ten days?”
“The enemy will be here very soon; ten days will be too late,” said
Kʻung-ming.
“In how many days do you estimate the arrows can be ready?”
“Let me have three days; then you may send for your hundred thousand.”
“No joking, remember,” said the General. “There is no joking in war
time.”
“Dare I joke with the Commander-in-Chief? Give me a formal military
order and if I have not completed the task in three days I will take my
punishment.”
Chou Yü, secretly delighted, sent for the secretaries and prepared the
commission then and there. Then he drank to the success of the
undertaking and said, “I shall have to congratulate you most heartily
when this is accomplished.”
“This day is not to count,” said Kʻung-ming. “On the third from
to-morrow morning send five hundred small boats to the river side to
convey the arrows.”
They drank a few more cups together and then Kʻung-ming took his leave.
After he had gone, Lu Su said, “Do you not think there is some deceit
about this?”
“I think he has signed his own death warrant,” said Chou. “Without
being pressed in the least he asked for a formal order in the face of
the whole assembly. If he grew a pair of wings he could not escape.
Only I will just order the workmen to delay him as much as they can,
and not supply him with materials, so that he is sure to fail. And
then, when the certain penalty is incurred, who can criticise? You can
go and enquire about it all and keep me informed.”
So off went Lu Su to seek Kʻung-ming, who at once reproached him with
having blabbed about the former business, “He wants to hurt me, as you
know, and I did not think you could not keep my secret. And now there
is what you saw to-day and how do you think I can get a hundred
thousand arrows made in three days? You will simply have to rescue me.”
“You brought the misfortune on yourself and how can I rescue you?” said
Lu.
“I look to you for the loan of a score of vessels, manned each by
thirty men. I want blue cotton screens and bundles of straw lashed to
the sides of the boats. I have good use for them. On the third day I
have undertaken to deliver the fixed number of arrows. But on no
account must you let Chou Yü know, or my scheme will be wrecked.”
Lu Su consented and this time he kept his word. He went to report to
his chief as usual, but he said nothing about the boats. He only said
Kʻung-ming was not using bamboo or feathers or glue or varnish, but had
some other way of getting arrows.
“Let us await the three days’ limit,” said Chou Yü, puzzled though
confident.
On his side Lu Su quietly prepared a score of light swift boats, each
with its crew and the blue screens and bundles of grass complete and,
when these were ready, he placed them at Kʻung-ming’s disposal. His
friend did nothing on the first day, nor on the second. On the third
day at the middle of the fourth watch, Kʻung-ming sent a private
message asking Lu Su to come to his boat.
“Why have you sent for me, Sir?” asked Lu Su.
“I want you to go with me to get those arrows.”
“Whither are you going?”
“Do not ask: you will see.”
Then the twenty boats were fastened together by long ropes and moved
over to the north bank. The night proved very foggy and the mist was
very dense along the river, so that one man could scarcely see another.
In spite of the fog Kʻung-ming urged the boats forward.
There is a poem on these river fogs:—
Mighty indeed is the Yangtse River!
Rising far in the west, in the mountains of Omei and Min,
Ploughing its way through Wu, east flowing, resistless,
Swelled by its nine tributary streams, rolling down from the far
north,
Aided and helped by a hundred rivulets swirling and foaming,
Ocean receives it at last welcoming, joyful, its waters.
Therein abide sea-nymphs and water gods,
Enormous whales a thousand fathoms long,
Nine-headed monstrous beasts yclept tʻien-wu,
Demons and uncouth creatures wondrous strange.
In faith it is the home and safe retreat
Of devils black, and sprites, and wondrous growths,
And eke the battle ground of valiant men.
At times occur strange strife of elements,
When darkness strives on light’s domain t’encroach,
Whereat arises in the vaulted dome of blue
White wreaths of fog that toward the centre roll.
Then darkness falls, too dense for any torch
T’illumine; only clanging sounds can pass.
The fog at first appears, a vaprous wreath
Scarce visible. But thickening fast, it veils
The southern hills, the painted leopard’s home.
And spreads afar, until the northern sea
Leviathans are mazed and lose their course.
And denser yet it touches on the sky,
And spreads a heavy mantle o’er the earth.
Then, wide as is the high pitched arch of heaven,
Therein appears no single rift of blue.
Now mighty whales lead up their wives to sport
Upon the waves, the sinuous dragons dive
Deep down and, breathing, swell the heaving sea,
The earth is moist as with the early rains,
And spring’s creative energy is chilled.
Both far and wide and high the damp fog spreads,
Great cities on the eastern bank are hid,
Wide ports and mountains in the south are lost,
Whole fleets of battle ships, a thousand keels,
Hide in the misty depths; frail fishing boats
High riding on a wave are seen—and lost.
The gloom increases and the domed sky
Grows dark and darker as the sun’s light fails.
The daylight dies, dim twilight’s reign begins,
The ruddy hills dissolve and lose their hue.
The skill of matchless Yü would fail to sound
The depth and height; and Li Lou’s eye, though keen,
Could never pierce this gloom. Now is the time,
O sea and river gods, to use your powers.
The gliding fish and creeping water folk
Are lost; there is no track for bird or beast.
Fair Pʻênglai Isles are hidden from our sight,
The lofty gates of heaven have disappeared.
Nature is blurred and indistinct, as when
A driving rain storm hurries o’er the earth.
And then, perhaps, within the heavy haze
A noisome serpent vents his venom foul
And plagues descend, or impish demons work
Their wicked wills.
Ills fall on men but do not stay,
Heaven’s cleansing breath sweeps them away,
But while they last the mean ones cry,
The nobler suffer silently.
The greatest turmoil is a sign
Of quick return to state benign.
The little fleet reached Tsʻao Tsʻao’s naval camp about the fifth watch
and orders were given to form line lying prows west, and then to beat
the drums and shout.
“But what shall we do if they attack us?” exclaimed Lu Su.
Kʻung-ming replied with a smile, “I think the fleet will not venture
out in this fog; go on with your wine and let us be happy. We will go
back when the fog lifts.”
As soon as the shouting from the river was heard by those in the camp
the two commanders ran off to report to their chief, who said, “Coming
up in a fog like this means that they have prepared an ambush for us.
Do not go out, but get all the force together and shoot at them.”
He also sent orders to the soldier camps to despatch six companies of
archers and crossbowmen to aid the marines.
The naval forces were then lined up on the bank to prevent a landing.
Presently the soldiers arrived and a legion and more men were shooting
down into the river, where the arrows fell like rain. By and bye
Kʻung-ming ordered the boats to turn round so that their prows pointed
east and to go closer in so that many arrows might hit them.
The drums were kept beating till the sun was high and the fog began to
disperse, when the boats got under way and sailed down stream. The
whole twenty boats were bristling with arrows on both sides. As they
left, all the crews derisively shouted, “We thank you, Sir Minister,
for the arrows.”
They told Tsʻao Tsʻao, but by the time he came the light boats helped
by the swift current were a long way down river and pursuit was
impossible. Tsʻao Tsʻao saw that he had been duped and was very sorry,
but there was no help for it.
On the way down Kʻung-ming said to his companion, “Every boat must have
five or six thousand arrows and so, without the expenditure of an ounce
of energy, we must have more than ten myriad arrows, which to-morrow
can be shot back again at Tsʻao Tsʻao’s army to his great
inconvenience.”
“You are really superhuman,” said Lu Su. “But how did you know there
would be a thick fog to-day?”
“One cannot be a leader without knowing the workings of heaven and the
ways of earth. One must understand the secret gates and the
interdependence of the elements, the mysteries of tactics and the value
of forces. It is but an ordinary talent. I calculated three days ago
that there would be a fog to-day and so I set the limit at three days.
Chou Yü would give me ten days, but neither artificers nor material, so
that he might find occasion to put me to death as I knew, but my fate
lies with the Supreme and how could Chou Yü harm me?”
Lu Su could not but agree. When the boats arrived half a company were
in readiness on the bank to carry away the arrows. Kʻung-ming bade them
go on board the boats, collect them and bear them to the tent of the
Commander-in-Chief. Lu Su went to report that the arrows had been
obtained and told Chou Yü by what means.
Chou Yü was amazed and sighed sadly, saying, “He is better than I; his
methods are more than human.”
Thick lies the fog on the river,
Nature is shrouded in white,
Distant and near are confounded,
Banks are no longer in sight.
Fast fly the pattering arrows,
Stick in the boats of the fleet.
Now can full tale be delivered,
Kʻung-ming is victor complete.
When, shortly after his return, Kʻung-ming went to the tent of the
Commander-in-Chief he was welcomed by Chou Yü, who came forward to
greet him, saying, “Your superhuman predictions compel one’s esteem.”
“There is nothing remarkable in that trifling trick,” replied he.
Chou Yü led him within and wine was brought.
Chou Yü said, “My lord sent yesterday to urge me to advance, but I have
no master plan ready; I wish you would assist me, Master.”
“But where should I, a man of poor, everyday ability, find such a plan
as you desire?”
“I saw the enemy’s naval camp just lately and it looked very complete
and well organised. It is not an ordinary place to attack. I have
thought of a plan, but I am not sure it will answer. I should be happy
if you would decide for me.”
“General,” replied Kʻung-ming, “do not say what your plan is but each
of us will write in the palm of his hand and see whether our opinions
agree.”
So pen and ink were sent for and Chou Yü first wrote on his own palm,
and then passed the pen to Kʻung-ming who also wrote. Then getting
close together on the same bench each showed his hand to the other, and
both burst out laughing, for both had written the same word, “Fire.”
“Since we are of the same opinion,” said Chou Yü, “there is no longer
any doubt. But our intentions must be kept secret.”
“Both of us are public servants and what would be the sense of telling
our plans? I do not think Tsʻao Tsʻao will be on his guard against this
although he has had two experiences. You may put your scheme into
force.”
They finished their wine and separated. Not an officer knew a word of
the general’s plans.
Now Tsʻao Tsʻao had expended a myriad arrows in vain and was much
irritated in consequence. He deeply desired revenge. Then Hsün Yu
proposed a ruse, saying, “The two strategists on the side of the enemy
are Chou Yü and Chuko Liang, two men most difficult to get the better
of. Let us send some one who shall pretend to surrender to them but
really be a spy on our behalf and a helper in our schemes. When we know
what is doing we can plan to meet it.”
“I had thought of that myself,” replied Tsʻao. “Whom do you think the
best man to send?”
“Tsʻai Mao has been put to death, but all the clan and family are in
the army and the two younger brothers are junior generals. You have
them most securely in your power and may send them to surrender. The
ruler of Wu will never suspect deceit there.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao decided to act on this plan and in the evening summoned the
two men to his tent, where he told them what he wished them to do. And
he promised them rich rewards if they succeeded. “But do not betray
me,” added he.
“Our families are in Chingchou and that place is yours,” replied they.
“Should we dare betray? You need have no doubts, Sir. You will soon see
the heads of both Chou Yü and Chuko Liang at your feet.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao gave them generous gifts and soon after the two men, each
with his half company, set sail with a fair wind for the opposite bank.
Now as Chou Yü was preparing for the attack the arrival of some ships
was announced. They bore the two younger brothers of Tsʻai Mao, who had
come as deserters. They were led in and, bowing before the general,
said, weeping, “Our innocent brother has been put to death and we
desire vengeance. So we have come to offer allegiance to you. We pray
you to appoint us to the vanguard.”
Chou Yü appeared very pleased and made them presents. Then he ordered
them to join Kan Ning in leading the van. They thanked him and regarded
their scheme as already a success.
But he gave Kan Ning secret orders, saying, “They have come without
their families and so I know their desertion is only pretence. They
have been sent as spies and I am going to meet their ruse with one of
my own. They shall have some information to send. You will treat them
well, but keep a careful guard over them. On the day our soldiers start
they shall be sacrificed to the flag. But be very careful that nothing
goes wrong.”
Kan Ning went away, and Lu Su came in to tell Chou Yü that every one
agreed in thinking the surrender of the two feigned and said they
should be rejected.
“But they wish to revenge the death of their brother,” said the
General. “Where is the pretence? If you are so suspicious you will
receive nobody at all.”
Lu Su left much piqued and went to see Kʻung-ming to whom he told the
story. Kʻung-ming only smiled.
“Why do you smile?” said Lu Su.
“I smile at your simplicity. The General is playing a game. Spies
cannot easily come and go so these two have been sent to feign
desertion that they may act as spies. The General is meeting one ruse
with another. He wants them to give information. Deceit is not to be
despised in war and his scheme is the correct one to employ.”
Then Lu Su understood. That night as Chou Yü was sitting in his tent,
Huang Kai came to see him privately. “You have surely some wise plan to
propose that you come at night like this.”
Huang Kai replied, “The enemy are more numerous than we and it is wrong
to delay. Why not burn them out?”
“Who suggested that to you?”
“I thought of it myself, nobody suggested it,” replied Huang.
“I just wanted something like this and that is why I kept those two
pretended deserters. I want them to give some news. The pity is that I
have no one to feign desertion to the other side and work my plan.”
“But I will carry out your plan,” said Huang Kai.
“But if you cannot show some injury you will not be believed,” said
Chou.
“The Sun family have been very generous to me and I would not resent
being crushed to death to repay them,” said Huang.
The General thanked him saying, “If you would not object to some bodily
suffering then our country would indeed be happy.”
“Kill me; I do not mind,” repeated Huang Kai as he took his leave.
Next day the drums called all the officers together to the General’s
tent and Kʻung-ming came with the others. Chou Yü said, “The enemy’s
camps extend about three hundred li so that the campaign will be a long
one. Each leader is to prepare supplies for three months.”
Scarcely had he spoken when Huang Kai started up, crying, “Say not
three months; be ready for thirty months, and even then it will not be
ended. If you can destroy them this month then all is well. If you
cannot, then it were better to take Chang Chao’s advice, throw down
your weapons, turn to the north and surrender.”
Chou Yü’s anger flared up and he flushed, crying, “Our lord’s orders
were to destroy Tsʻao Tsʻao and whoever mentioned the word surrender
should be put to death. Now, the very moment when the two armies are to
engage, you dare talk of surrender and damp the ardour of my men! If I
do not slay you, how can I support the others?”
He ordered the lictors to remove Huang Kai and execute him without
delay.
Kai then flamed up in turn, saying, “This is the third generation since
I went with General Pʻo-lo (Sun Chien) and we overran the south-east;
whence have you sprung up?”
This made Chou Yü perfectly furious and Huang Kai was ordered to
instant death. But Kan Ning interfered. Said he, “He is a veteran
officer of Wu; pray pardon him.”
“What are you prating about?” cried Chou Yü. “Dare you come between me
and my duty?” Turning to the lictors he ordered them to drive him forth
with blows.
The other officials fell on their knees entreating pity for Huang Kai.
“He is indeed most worthy of death, but it would be a loss to the army;
we pray you forgive him. Record his fault for the moment and after the
enemy shall have been defeated then put him to death.”
But Chou Yü was implacable. The officers pleaded with tears. At length
he seemed moved, saying, “Had you not interceded he should certainly
have suffered death. But now I will mitigate the punishment to a
beating. He shall not die.”
He turned to the lictors and bade them deal the culprit one hundred
blows. Again his colleagues prayed for remission but Chou Yü angrily
pushed over the table in front of him and roared to the officers to get
out of the way and let the sentence be executed.
So Huang Kai was stripped, thrown to the ground and fifty blows were
given. At this point the officers again prayed that he be let off. Chou
Yü sprang from his chair and pointing his finger at Huang Kai said, “If
you dare flout me again you shall have the other fifty. If you are
guilty of any disrespect, you shall be punished for both faults!”
With this he turned into the inner part of the tent, growling as he
went, while the officers helped their beaten colleague to his feet. He
was in a pitiable state. His back was cut in many places and the blood
was flowing in streams. They led him to his own quarters and on the way
he swooned several times. His case seemed most pitiable.
Lu Su went to see the suffering officer and then called on Kʻung-ming
in his boat. He related the story of the beating and said that though
the other officers had been cowed into silence he thought Kʻung-ming
might have interceded. “You are a guest and not under his orders. Why
did you stand by with your hands up your sleeves and say never a word?”
“You insult me,” said Kʻung-ming smiling.
“Why do you say that? I have never insulted you; never since the day we
came here together.”
“Do you not know that that terrible beating was but a ruse? How could I
try to dissuade him?”
Then Lu Su began to perceive and Kʻung-ming continued, “Tsʻao Tsʻao
would not be taken in unless there was some real bodily suffering. Now
he is going to send Huang Kai over as a deserter and he will see to it
that the two Tsʻao spies duly tell the tale. But when you see the
General you must not tell him that I saw through the ruse. You say that
I am very angry like the others.”
Lu Su went to see Chou Yü and asked him why he had so cruelly beaten a
proved and trusty officer.
“Do the officers resent it?” asked Chou.
“They are all upset about it.”
“And what does your friend think?”
“He also resents it in his heart, and thinks you have made a mistake.”
“Then I have deceived him for once,” said Chou gleefully.
“What mean you?” cried Lu.
“That beating that Huang Kai got is part of my ruse. I am sending him
to Tsʻao Tsʻao as a deserter and so I have supplied a reason for
desertion. Then I am going to use fire against the enemy.”
Lu Su kept silence but he recognised that Kʻung-ming was again right.
Meanwhile Huang Kai lay in his tent, whither all his brother officers
went to condole with him and enquire after his health. But Kai would
say never a word; he only lay sighing deeply from time to time.
But when the strategist Kʻan Tsê came, Kai told them to bring him to
the room where he lay. Then he bade the servants go away and Tsê said,
“Surely you must have some serious quarrel with the General.”
“I have none,” said Kai.
“Then this beating is just part of a ruse?”
“How did you guess?” said Kai.
“Because I watched the General and I guessed about nine tenths of the
truth.”
Huang said, “You see I have been very generously treated by the Sun
family, all three of them, and have no means of showing my gratitude
except by offering to help in this ruse. True I suffer, but I do not
regret that. Among all those I know in the army there is not one I am
intimate with except yourself. You are true and I can talk with you as
a friend.”
“I suppose you wish me to present your letter proposing to come over;
is that it?”
“Just that; will you do it?” said Huang.
Kʻan Tsê consented joyfully.
Even the warrior’s body is but a stake in the game,
The friend so ready to help him proves that their hearts are the
same.
Kʻan’s reply will be read in the next chapter.