THE DOWAGER MARCHIONESS SEES HER SON-IN-LAW AT A TEMPLE:
LIU, THE IMPERIAL UNCLE, TAKES A WORTHY CONSORT.
Yüan-tê and Kʻung-ming went out of the city to welcome the envoy of Wu
and led him to the guest-house. After the usual greetings, Lu Su said,
“Hearing of the death of your nephew, my lord has prepared some gifts
and sent me to take his place at the funeral sacrifices. General Chou
Yü also sends greetings to the Imperial Uncle and to you, Master
Chuko.”
Both rose at once and thanked him for the courtesy. Then the gifts were
handed over and a banquet prepared, and while it was in progress, the
guest brought up the real object of his visit.
“You said, Sir, that Chingchou should be returned to us after the death
of Liu Chʻi. Now that that event has happened rendition becomes due and
I should be glad to know when the transfer can take place.”
“We will discuss that later; in the meantime let us go on with our
wine,” said Yüan-tê.
So the feasting continued. Some time later Lu Su returned to the
subject, but this time his host remained silent. However, Kʻung-ming,
changing colour, said, “Tzŭ-ching, you are unreasonable. You should
have waited till some other spoke of this matter. From the very
foundation of the empire by our illustrious ancestor the great heritage
has descended in due course till to-day when, unhappily, evil-doers
have risen among the powerful and they have seized upon such portions
as they could. But with God’s favour and help unity is nearly restored.
My lord is a scion of the Imperial house, a great great grandson of the
Emperor Hsiao-Ching. Now, as the Emperor’s Uncle, should he not have a
share of the Empire? Moreover, Liu Ching-hsing (Liu Piao) was my lord’s
elder brother and there is certainly nothing extraordinary in one
brother’s succession to another’s estate. What is your master? The son
of a petty official on the banks of the Chʻientʻang River, absolutely
without merit so far as the State is concerned. Just because he is
powerful he holds actual possession of a certain amount of territory,
which has whetted his insatiable appetite till he now desires to
swallow the whole country. The land is the estate of the Liu family and
my lord, who is of that name, has no share thereof, while your master,
whose name is Sun, would dispute with, and even fight him. Beside, at
the battle at Chʻihpi (Red Wall) my lord did good service and acquired
great merit while his captains risked their lives. Was it solely the
strength of your men of Wu that won that fight? Had I not brought that
south-east wind that meant so much for Chou Yü, could he have done
anything? Had Chiangnan been conquered, it is needless to say that two
beauties you wot of would now be gracing the Bronze Bird Palace, and as
for yourself, insignificant though your family be, could you have been
sure to survive? Just now my lord did not reply because he was willing
to believe rather that a scholar of your abilities would understand
without a detailed explanation, and I trust now that you will.”
This speech absolutely shut the guest’s mouth for a time and he said no
word in reply. But after an interval he said, “What you say,
Kʻung-ming, I think is devoid of reason, and means much unpleasantness
for me.”
“What unpleasantness?” asked Kʻung-ming.
The guest replied, “When Liu Pei was in serious straits at Tangyang I
conducted you across the river and introduced you to my lord. I opposed
Chou Yü when he was going to capture Chingchou, and then it came about
that the place was to be ours when the young man died. And I pledged
myself to that. Now how can I go back and say you break your promise?
Both my lord and Chou Yü will hold me guilty. I would not mind death so
much, but I fear that my master will be very wrathful and make war on
the Imperial Uncle, who will have no place of refuge and he will look
ridiculous in the eyes of the world for no reason.”
Replied Kʻung-ming, “I care not for Tsʻao Tsʻao with his hundred
legions and the Emperor in name at his back, and do you think I fear
such a youngster as your Chou Yü? However, as it may cause you some
loss of consideration I will try to persuade my master to put the
matter in writing and give you a paper to the effect that he is
temporarily occupying Chingchou as a base and when he can obtain
possession of some other city this shall be returned to you. What think
you Wu would say to this?”
“Wait till what other place was obtained?” said Lu Su.
“My master can scarcely think of attacking the capital yet, but Liu
Chang in Ssŭchʻuan is ignorant and weak and my master will attack him.
If he get the western province then this place will be given up to
you.”
Lu Su had no alternative and accepted the offer. Yüan-tê with his own
hand wrote the pledge and sealed it. Chuko Kʻung-ming being named as
guarantor also signed the document.
“Since I belong to this side of the compact and one can hardly have a
guarantor of the same party I would trouble you, Tzŭ-ching, also to
sign. It will look better when you reach Wu again,” said Kʻung-ming.
Lu Su said, “I know that your master is perfectly honourable and will
adhere to the bargain.”
And so he signed. Then he received the document in formal style and
took his departure. He was sent off with every mark of great respect,
both Yüan-tê and Kʻung-ming attending him to his boat. There the
adviser delivered him a last exhortation, “When you see your master,
speak discreetly and explain fully so as not to create a bad
impression. If he reject our document we may get angry and we will take
his whole country. The one thing now is for our two houses to live in
harmony and not give our common enemy an opportunity against us.”
Lu Su went down into his ship. He reached Chʻaisang and there saw Chou
Yü, who said, “Well, how did you speed with your demand for Chingchou?”
“Here is the document,” said Lu Su, giving it to Chou Yü to read.
“You have been victimised by Chuko,” said Chou, stamping his foot with
irritation. “In name it may be temporary occupation but in fact it is
humbug. They say the place is to be returned when they get the west.
Who knows when that will be? Suppose ten years; then it will be ten
years before they give us Chingchou. What is the use of such a document
as this? And you are a guarantor of its due performance! If they do not
give us the city, you get into trouble. Suppose our lord finds you in
the wrong, what then?”
Lu Su was dumbfounded. When he had somewhat recovered his
self-possession, he said, “I think Yüan-tê will be true to me.”
“You, my friend, are simple and sincere; Liu Pei is a scoundrelly
adventurer; and Chuko Liang is a slippery customer. They and you are
utterly different.”
“What then is to be done?” cried Lu Su distressfully.
“You are my dear friend and your kindness in freely offering your store
of grain to relieve my necessity is still fresh in my memory. Of course
I will save you. Do not be anxious, but wait a few days till we get
news of what is doing on the north of the river and then we can decide
upon a plan.”
Lu Su passed some very uneasy days. Then the scouts came back saying
that in Chingchou everything seemed in excellent order and the flags
were flying everywhere, while outside the city they were building a
magnificent mausoleum for the Lady Kan, wife of Liu Pei. All the
soldiers were in mourning.
When Chou Yü knew who was dead, he said to his friend, “My scheme is
made. You will see Liu Pei just stand still to be bound and we shall
get Chingchou like turning a hand.”
“What is the main-spring of your plan?” said Lu Su.
“Liu Pei will want to re-marry and our lord has a sister. She is a
veritable amazon, whose women guards number many hundreds, all armed
with weapons of war. Her apartments also are full of such things. I
will write to our lord to send an intermediary to arrange that the lady
shall wed Liu Pei at her family home and thus we shall entice him to
Nanhsü. But instead of marrying a wife, he will find himself a
prisoner, and then we will demand Chingchou as ransom. When they have
handed over the city I shall find something else to say and nothing
will fall on your head.”
Lu Su was very grateful. Then Chou Yü wrote letters to his master and a
swift boat was chosen to take Lu Su to see the Marquis of Wu.
After the lending of Chingchou had been discussed, Lu Su presented the
document given him by Liu Pei. “What is the use of such nonsense as
this?” said Sun Chʻüan, when he had read it.
“There is another letter from General Chou and he says that if you will
employ his scheme you can recover Chingchou,” replied Lu.
Having read that letter the Marquis was more pleased and began to
consider who was the best man to send. Suddenly he cried, “I have it;
Lü Fan is the man to send.”
He called Lü Fan and said to him, “I have just heard that Liu Yüan-tê
has lost his wife. I have a sister whom I should like to marry to him
and so make a bond of union between our two houses. Thus we should be
united against Tsʻao and in support of the House of Han. You are the
one man to be intermediary and I hope you will go to Chingchou and see
to this.”
Under these orders Lü Fan at once began to prepare his ships for the
voyage and soon started.
Yüan-tê was greatly distressed at the death of the Lady Kan, fretting
for her day and night. One day when he was talking with his adviser
they announced the arrival of Lü Fan. He had come on a mission from Wu.
“One of Chou Yü’s devices,” said the adviser smiling, “and it is all on
account of this city. I will just retire behind the screen and listen.
But you, my lord, agree to whatever the messenger proposes. Then let
the messenger be taken to the guest-house while we arrange what is to
be done.”
So the envoy was introduced. Bows having been exchanged, host and guest
being seated in due order and the tea drunk, Yüan-tê opened the
interview.
“You must have some commands for me, Sir, since you come thus.”
“News has just been received that you, O Imperial Uncle, have just been
bereaved of your consort. I venture to hope you would not object to an
advantageous match and I have come to propose one. Are you disposed to
listen?”
“To lose one’s wife in middle age is truly a great misfortune,” said
Liu Pei. “While her body is still warm I cannot listen to proposals for
another marriage.”
Lü Fan said, “A man without a wife is like a house without a ridge
pole. At your age one should not live an incomplete life. I am come on
the part of the Marquis of Wu, who has a sister, beautiful as she is
accomplished and well fitted to be a mate for you. Should the two
families become allied as formerly were Tsʻin and Chin, then that
ruffian Tsʻao would never dare so much as look this way. Such an
alliance would be to the benefit of both our houses and of the State. I
hope, O Imperial Uncle, that you will fairly consider the proposal.
However, since the young girl’s mother is dotingly fond of her she does
not wish her to go far away, and so I must ask you to come into our
country for the wedding.”
“Does the Marquis know of your coming?”
“How dare I come without his knowledge?”
“I am no longer young,” said Liu Pei. “I am fifty and grizzled. This
fair damsel, the sister of the Marquis, is now in the flower of her
youth and no mate for me.”
“Although the damsel is a woman yet in mind she surpasses many a man,
and she has said she will never wed any one who is unknown to fame.
Now, Sir, you are renowned throughout the four seas. Marriage with you
would be the chaste maiden mating with the born gentleman. Of what
consequence is the difference in age?”
“Sir, stay here awhile and I will give you a reply to-morrow,” said Liu
Pei.
So that day the envoy was entertained at a banquet and then conducted
to the guest house to repose, while, late as it was, Yüan-tê and
Kʻung-ming discussed their plans.
“I knew what he had come about,” said the adviser. “While he was
talking I consulted the oracle and obtained an excellent sortilege.
Wherefore you may accept the proposal and send Sun Chʻien back with
this envoy to arrange the details. When the promise has been ratified
we will choose a day and you shall go to complete the ceremony.”
“How can I thus go into enemy territory? Chou Yü has wanted to slay me
for a long time.”
“Let Chou Yü employ all his ruses; think you he can get beyond me? Let
me act for you and his calculations will always fail halfway. Once Sun
Chʻüan’s sister is in your power there will be no fear for Chingchou.”
Still Yüan-tê doubted in his mind. However, the messenger was sent to
Wu, with definite instructions, and travelled thither with Lü Fan. At
the interview Sun Chʻüan said, “I wish my sister could induce Yüan-tê
to live here with us. He would come to no harm.”
Sun Chʻien took his leave, and returning to Chingchou he told the
bridegroom elect that Sun Chʻüan’s sole desire was for him to go over
and complete the marriage.
However, Yüan-tê feared and would not go. Kʻung-ming said he had
prepared three plans but they needed Chao Tzŭ-lung to carry them out.
Wherefore he must go as guard. So he called in Chao Yün, gave him three
silken bags and whispered in his ear saying, “Here are three schemes
enclosed in three bags. When you escort our lord to Wu you will take
these with you and act as they direct.”
Chao Yün hid the three silken bags in his breast so that they should be
at hand when required.
Kʻung-ming next sent the wedding gifts, and when these had been
received the preliminaries were settled.
It was then the early winter of the fourteenth year of “Established
Tranquillity” (209 A.D.) and the bridegroom elect, his escort and the
intermediary, left Chingchou with a fleet of ten fast ships to sail
down the river to Nanhsü. Kʻung-ming remained to guard and rule the
city.
But Liu Pei was far from feeling comfortable. They arrived and the
ships were made fast. This done the time had come for the first of the
silken bags to be opened. And so it was; and thereupon Chao Yün gave
each of the soldiers of his half company his instructions and they went
their several ways. Next he told Liu Pei what he was to do; that he was
to pay his visit first to Chʻiao “Kuo-lao,” who was the father-in-law
of Sun Tsʻê and of Chou Yü. He resided in Nanhsü and to his house,
“leading sheep and bearing wine jars,” went the bridegroom elect.
Having made his obeisance he explained that as Lü Fan had arranged he
had come to marry a wife.
In the meantime the half company of the escort, all in gala dress, had
scattered over the town buying all sorts of things, as they said, for
the wedding of Liu Pei with the daughter of the House of Wu. They
spread the news far and wide and the whole town talked about it.
When Sun Chʻüan heard of Yüan-tê’s arrival he bade Lü Fan wait upon him
and take him to the guest-house. Meanwhile Chʻiao Kuo-lao went to the
Dowager of Wu, mother of Sun Chʻüan, to congratulate her on the happy
event.
“What happy event?” ejaculated the old lady.
“The betrothal of your beloved daughter to Yüan-tê. And he has arrived
too, as surely you know.”
“My poor old self does not know,” said the Dowager, “I have heard
nothing of all this.”
She at once summoned her son and also sent her servants out into the
town to see what was going about. They quickly returned to say that the
whole town knew of the coming wedding, and the bridegroom was then at
the guest-house. Moreover, he had come with a large escort and the men
were spending freely, buying pork and mutton and fruits, all in
readiness for the wedding feasting. They also told her the names of the
intermediaries on each side, and said they were in the guest-house too.
The Dowager was terribly taken aback and upset so that, when Sun Chʻüan
arrived, he found his mother beating her breast and weeping bitterly.
“What has disturbed you, mother,” asked he.
“What you have just done,” said she. “You have treated me as a
nonentity. When my elder sister lay dying, what did she tell you?”
Sun Chʻüan began to be frightened, but he said boldly, “Please speak
out plainly, mother; what is this great sorrow?”
“When a son is grown he takes a wife, and when a girl is old enough she
goes to her husband. And that is right and proper. But I am the mother
and you ought to have told me that your sister was to become the wife
of Liu Pei. Why did you keep me in the dark? It was my place to promise
her in marriage.”
“Whence comes this story?” said the Marquis, really much frightened.
“Do you pretend ignorance? There is not a soul in the city who does not
know! But you have succeeded in keeping me in the dark.”
“I heard it several days ago,” said Chʻiao. “And I came just now to
offer my felicitations.”
“There is no such thing,” said Sun. “It is just one of the ruses of
Chou Yü to get hold of Chingchou. He has used this means to inveigle
Liu Pei here and hold him captive till Chingchou is restored to us. And
if they will not give it back, then Liu Pei will be put to death. That
is the plot. There is no real marriage.”
But the Dowager was in a rage and vented her wrath in abusing Chou Yü.
“He is a pretty sort of a governor over the eighty-one districts if he
cannot find any means of recovering one city except making use of my
child as a decoy. Truly this is a fine deed, to spoil the whole of my
child’s life and condemn her to perpetual widowhood because he wants to
use the fair damsel ruse to slay a man! Who will ever come to talk of
marriage with her after this?”
Said Chʻiao Kuo-lao, “By this means you may indeed recover Chingchou
but you will be a shameful laughing stock to all the world. What can be
done?”
Sun Chʻüan had nothing to say; he could only hang his head, while the
Dowager abused his general.
Chʻiao tried to soothe her. “After all Liu, the Imperial Uncle, is a
scion of the reigning family. You can do nothing better now than to
welcome him as a son-in-law and not let this ugly story get abroad.”
“I am afraid their ages do not match,” interposed Sun Chʻüan.
“Liu is a very famous man,” said Chʻiao. “There can be no shame in
having such a son-in-law.”
“I have never seen him,” said the Dowager. “Arrange that I may get a
look at him to-morrow at the Gentle Dew Temple. If he displeases me,
you may work your will on him. But if I am satisfied with him then I
shall simply let the girl marry him.”
Now Sun Chʻüan was above all things filial and at once agreed to what
his mother said. He went out, called in Lü Fan and told him to arrange
a banquet for the morrow at the temple so that the Dowager might see
the bridegroom.
“Why not order Chia Hua to station some men in the wings of the temple?
Then if the Dowager be not pleased we can call them out and fall upon
him,” said Lü Fan.
Accordingly the ambush was prepared and ruffians posted to act as the
Dowager’s attitude might determine.
When Chʻiao took his leave and had reached his house, he sent to tell
Yüan-tê that on the morrow the Dowager wished to see him and she was
well disposed.
Yüan-tê and his faithful henchman discussed their plans. Chao Yün said,
“The morrow bodes rather ill than well. However, the escort shall be
there.”
Next day the Dowager and Chʻiao went to the Temple of Gentle Dew as had
been arranged. Sun Chʻüan came with a number of his strategists, and
when all were assembled Lü Fan was sent to the guest house to request
Yüan-tê to come. He obeyed the summons, but as a precaution he put on a
light coat of mail under his brocaded robe. His followers too took
their swords upon their backs and followed close. He mounted his steed
and the cavalcade set out for the temple. At the door of the temple he
met Sun Chʻüan on whom the visitor’s brave demeanour was not lost.
After they had exchanged salutations, Sun led Liu Pei into the presence
of his mother.
“Just the son-in-law for me!” said the Dowager delighted with the
appearance of Liu Pei.
“He has the air of an emperor and a look like the sun,” remarked
Chʻiao. “When one remembers also that his fair fame has spread over the
whole earth, you may well be congratulated on getting such a noble
son-in-law.”
Liu Pei bowed, in acknowledgment of his reception. Soon after they were
all seated at the banquet in the temple, Chao Yün entered and took his
place beside Yüan-tê.
“Who is this?” asked the Dowager.
“This is Chao Yün of Chʻangshan.”
“Then he must be the hero of Tangyang Slope, who saved the little
O-tou.”
“Yes; this is he,” replied Yüan-tê.
“A fine captain!” said the Dowager, and she gave him wine.
Presently Chao Yün said to his master, “I have seen a lot of armed
ruffians hidden away in the purlieus of the temple. They can be there
for no good and you should ask the Dowager to get them sent away.”
Thereupon Liu Pei knelt at the feet of the Dowager and, weeping, said,
“If you would slay me, let it be here.”
“Why do you say this?” asked she.
“Because there are assassins in hiding in the wings of the temple; what
are they there for if not to kill me?”
The Dowager wrathfully turned on Sun Chʻüan. “What are armed men doing
there to-day when Yüan-tê is to become my son-in-law and the pair are
my son and daughter?”
Sun Chʻüan said he did not know and sent Lü Fan to enquire. Lü Fan put
the blame on Chia Hua. The Dowager summoned him and upbraided him
severely. He had nothing to say and she told them to put him to death.
But Yüan-tê interceded saying that it would do him harm and make it
hard for him to stay at her side.
Chʻiao Kuo-lao also interceded and she only ordered the captain out of
her presence. His men also scattered and ran like frightened rats.
By and bye, strolling out of the banquet room into the temple grounds,
Yüan-tê came to a boulder. Drawing his sword he looked up to heaven and
prayed saying, “If I am to return to Chingchou and achieve my intent to
become a chief ruler, then may I cleave this boulder asunder with my
sword, but if I am to meet my doom in this place then may the sword
fail to cut this stone.”
Raising his sword he smote the boulder. Sparks flew in all directions;
and the boulder lay cleft in twain.
It happened that Sun Chʻüan had seen the blow and he said, “Why do you
thus hate that stone?”
Yüan-tê replied, “I am near my fifth decade and have so far failed to
rid the State of evil; I greatly regret my failure. Now I have been
accepted by the Dowager as her son-in-law, and this is a critical
moment in my life. So I implored of Heaven a portent that I might
destroy Tsʻao as I would that boulder and restore the dynasty. You saw
what happened.”
“That is only to blind me,” thought Sun. Drawing his own sword he said,
“And I also ask of Heaven an omen, that if I am to destroy Tsʻao I may
also cut this rock.”
So he spoke. But in his secret heart he prayed “If I am to recover
Chingchou and extend my borders, may the stone be cut in twain.”
He smote the stone and it split in twain. And to this day there are
cross cuts in the stone, which is still preserved.
One who saw this relic wrote a poem:—
The shining blades fell and the rock was shorn through,
The metal rang clear and the sparks widely flew.
Thus fate then declared for the dynasties two
And the tripartite rule there began.
Both put up their swords and returned hand in hand to the banquet hall.
After some more courses Sun Chʻüan gave his master a warning look and
Liu Pei said, “I pray you to excuse me as my drinking powers are very
small.” Wherefore Sun Chʻüan escorted him to the gate. As they walked
down looking at high land and rolling river spreading in glorious
panorama before their eyes, Yüan-tê exclaimed, “Really this is the
finest scene in the whole world!”
These words are recorded on a tablet in the Temple of the Gentle Dew
and one who read them wrote a poem:—
From the river-side hills the rain clears off,
And the black clouds roll away,
And this is the place of joy and mirth
And never can sorrow stay.
And here two heroes of ages past
Decided their parts to play,
And the lofty heights flung back wind and wave
Then, as they do to-day.
Yes, they stood both entranced by the beautiful scene. And gradually
along the vast river the wind whipped the waves into snowy foam and
raised them high toward heaven. And in the midst of the waves appeared
a tiny leaf of a boat riding over the waves as if all was perfect calm.
“The southern people are sailors and the northern men riders; it is
quite true,” sighed Liu Pei.
Sun Chʻüan hearing this remark took it as a reproach to his
horsemanship. Bidding his servants lead up his steed he leaped into the
saddle and set off, full gallop, down the hill. Then wheeling he came
up again at the same speed.
“So the southerners cannot ride, eh?” said he laughing.
Not to be outdone Liu Pei lifted the skirts of his robe, jumped upon
his horse and repeated the feat.
The two steeds stood side by side on the declivity, the riders
flourishing their whips and laughing.
Thence forward that hillside was known as the “Slope where the Horses
Stood” and a poem was written about it.
Their galloping steeds were of noble breed,
And both of spirit high.
And the riders twain from the hill-crest gazed
At the river rolling by.
One of them mastered the far off west.
One ruled by the eastern sea;
And the name of the hill to this very day
Brings back their memory.
When they rode side by side into Nanhsü the people met them with
acclamations. Yüan-tê made his way to the guesthouse and there sought
advice from Sun Chʻien as to the date of the wedding. Sun Chʻien
advised that it be fixed as early as possible so that no further
complications could arise. So next day Yüan-tê went to Chʻiao “Kuo-lao”
and told him in plain words that it was clear the people of the place
meant harm to him and he could not stay there long. He must return
soon.
“Do not be anxious,” said Chʻiao. “I will tell the Dowager and she will
protect you.”
He saw the Dowager and she was very angry when she heard the reason for
Liu Pei’s desire to leave.
“Who would dare harm my son-in-law?” cried she.
But she made him move into the library of the Palace as a precaution
and she chose a day for the celebration of the wedding. But his
soldiers could not keep guard at the library. Yüan-tê explained to his
hostess and when she understood this she gave her son-in-law rooms in
her own Palace so that he might be quite safe.
Yüan-tê was very happy and there were fine banquets and the bride and
bridegroom duly plighted their troth. And when it grew late and the
guests had gone the newly wedded pair walked through the two lines of
red torches to the nuptial apartment.
To his extreme surprise Yüan-tê found the chambers furnished with
spears and swords and banners and flags, while every waiting-maid had
girded on a sword.
Walls hung with spears the bridegroom saw,
And armed waiting-maids;
His heart fell back on all its fears
Of well-laid ambuscades.
What happened will be related in the next chapter.