A BANQUET IN THE BRONZE BIRD PAVILION:
KʻUNG-MING PROVOKES CHOU YÜ A THIRD TIME.
The ambuscade into which Chou Yü had fallen had been prepared by the
orders of Kʻung-ming and was triple. However, Huang Kai and Han Tang
contrived to get clear and found refuge in the ships, though with the
loss of many men. When Chou Yü was in safety and looked about him he
saw Yüan-tê and the Lady Sun quietly resting on a hill top. How could
such a sight fail to put him in a rage? And with the access of rage his
wound, not yet healed, burst open once again. He swooned and fell. They
raised him and his ship set sail. He was allowed to depart undisturbed,
while Yüan-tê proceeded to Chingchou, where were great rejoicings in
honour of his recent marriage.
Meanwhile Chou Yü had gone to Chʻaisang while Chiang Chʻin and those
with him bore the sad tidings to Sun Chʻüan. He was angry beyond words
and his first thought was to send an army under Chʻêng Pʻu to take
Chingchou. Chou Yü also wrote from his sick bed urging his lord to take
vengeance. But Chang Chao knew better and said it could not be done.
Said he, “Tsʻao Tsʻao has never forgotten his defeat, but he dares not
attempt to avenge himself while the Sun family are friendly with Liu
Pei. If in any moment of anger you two fall upon each other, Tsʻao will
certainly seize the opportunity and your position will be dangerous.”
Ku Yung supported him, saying, “Beyond all doubt Tsʻao Tsʻao has his
spies here. As soon as he hears of any rift in the friendship between
Sun and Liu he will desire to come to an understanding with the latter
and Liu Pei, who fears your power, will accept his offer and take his
side. Such an alliance will be a continual menace to the land south of
the river. No; the plan for the occasion is to secure the friendship of
Liu Pei by memorialising that he be made Governor of Chingchou. This
will make Tsʻao Tsʻao afraid to send any army against the south-east.
At the same time it will raise kindly feelings in the heart of Liu Pei
and win his support. You will be able to find some one who will provoke
a quarrel between Tsʻao and Liu and set them at each other and that
will be your opportunity. In this way you will succeed.”
“These are good words,” said Sun Chʻüan, “but have I a messenger who
can accomplish such a mission?”
“There is such a man, one whom Tsʻao respects and loves.”
“Who is he?”
“What prevents you from employing Hua Hsin? He is ready to hand.”
Wherefore Hua Hsin was given letters and bidden go to the capital,
whither he proceeded at once and sought to see Tsʻao Tsʻao. They told
him that Tsʻao and all his friends were at Yehchün, celebrating the
completion of the Bronze Bird Pavilion. So thither he went.
Tsʻao had indeed never forgotten his great defeat and nourished schemes
to avenge it, but he feared the combination of his two chief enemies
and that fear restrained him.
In the spring of the fifteenth year the great Pavilion was completed
and Tsʻao invited a vast assembly to celebrate its inauguration with
banquets and rejoicings. The pleasaunce was on the bank of the Chang
River. The Bronze Bird Terrace stood in the centre, flanked by two
others named the Terrace of the Jade Dragon and the Terrace of the
Golden Phoenix. Each tower was a hundred feet high and a bridge
connected them. Gold and jade vied with each other in the many
apartments.
At the opening ceremony Tsʻao Tsʻao wore a golden headdress inlaid with
jewels and a robe of green brocaded silk, girded with a belt of jade.
On his feet were pearl-encrusted shoes. So clad he took his seat as
host, while his officers, civil and military, were drawn up below the
terrace.
For the military officers was arranged an archery competition and one
of his attendants brought forth a robe of red crimson Ssŭchʻuan silk as
a prize. This was suspended from one of the drooping branches of a
willow tree, beneath which was the target. The distance was a hundred
paces. The competitors were divided into two bands, those of his own
family being dressed in red and the others in green. They all had
carved bows and long arrows and were mounted. They stood holding in
their steeds till the signal should be given for the games to begin.
Each was to shoot one arrow and the robe was the guerdon for hitting
the target in the red; misses were to pay a forfeit of drinking a cup
of cold water.
As soon as the signal was given a red-robed youth rode quickly forth.
He was Tsʻao Hsiu. Swiftly he galloped to and fro thrice. Then he
adjusted the notch of his arrow to the string, pulled the bow to its
full and the arrow flew straight to the bullseye.
The clang of the gongs and the roll of the drums announced the feat,
which astonished them all. And Tsʻao, as he sat on the terrace, was
delighted. “A very promising colt of my own,” said he to those about
him, and he sent a messenger for the red robe that the winner might
receive it from his own hands.
But suddenly from the green side rode out one who cried, “It were more
fitting to let outsiders compete for the Minister’s silken robe; it is
not right that members of the family monopolise the contest.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao looked at the speaker, who was one Wên Pʻing. And some of
the officers cried, “Let us see what his shooting is like!”
So Wên Pʻing fitted an arrow to the string and fired also from
horseback while galloping. To the surprise of the onlookers he also
made a bullseye, which was honoured by another salute from gongs and
drums.
“Quickly bring me the robe,” cried Wên Pʻing.
But at once from the ranks of the red-robed another competitor dashed
forward, shouting fiercely, “How can you win what has been already won?
But let me show you how I can shoot an arrow that shall overcome both
your shots.”
He drew his bow to the full and the arrow flew straight to the heart of
the red. The surprised onlookers saw that this new competitor was Tsʻao
Hung, who now became also a claimant for the robe.
However, yet another archer came forth from the green robed ranks,
playing with his bow and crying, “What is there amazing in your
shooting, you three? See how I can shoot.”
This man was Chang Ho. He put his horse to the gallop, then turned his
back and, shooting backwards, also hit the centre of the red.
Thus four arrows were now sticking in the bullseye and all agreed that
it was marvellous archery.
“I think the robe should be mine,” said Chang Ho.
Before he could finish speaking a fifth competitor came out from the
red robes and shouted, “You shot backwards; but that is commonplace
enough. Look while I shoot better than you all.”
The speaker was Hsiahou Yüan. He galloped off to the very limit of the
butts and then bending his body over backwards he sent his arrow right
in among the other four.
As the gongs and drums broke out Yüan put aside his bow and rode up
saying, “Is not that a better shot than any of its predecessors?”
Then came out another from the greens who cried, “Leave the robe there
for me, Hsü Huang, to win.”
“What can you do that is better than my shot?” said Yüan.
“That you hit the bullseye is no great feat. You will see me win the
silken robe after all.”
So speaking, Hsü Huang fitted an arrow to his bow. Then looking around
he aimed at the willow twig from which the robe hung down and shot
thereat so true that his arrow cut it through and the robe fluttered to
the ground. At once Hsü Huang dashed along, picked up the robe and
slipped it on. Then riding swiftly to the terrace he thanked the
Minister. No one present could withhold unstinted praise and Hsü was
turning to ride away when another green clad captain leaped out saying,
“Where would you go with that robe? Quickly leave it for me!”
All eyes turned to this man who was Hsü Chʻu. Hsü Huang cried, “The
robe has already been adjudged to me; would you dare take it by force?”
Hsü Chʻu made no reply but galloped up to snatch the robe. As his horse
drew near Huang struck at his rival a blow with his bow. But Hsü Chʻu
seized the bow with one hand while with the other he simply lifted his
opponent out of his seat. Wherefore Hsü Huang let go the bow and the
next moment lay sprawling on the ground. Hsü Chʻu slipped out of the
saddle too and they began to pommel each other with their fists. Tsʻao
Tsʻao sent one to separate them, but in the struggle the robe had been
torn and soiled. He called the angry rivals before him and they came,
one darting fierce looks of hate, the other grinding his teeth with
rage.
“Never mind the robe; I see only your magnificent courage,” said Tsʻao
smiling. “What does a robe more or less matter?”
Whereupon he called the captains to him one by one and to each he
presented a robe of Ssŭchʻuan silk. They thanked him for the generous
gifts and he then commanded them to take their seats in due order. Then
to the strains of a band of music, wherein each performer vied with all
the others, the naval and military officers took their places. Civil
officers of repute and captains of renown drank one to another, and
hearty felicitations were exchanged.
Tsʻao looked around to those about him saying, “Since the military
officers have competed in mounted archery for our enjoyment and
displayed their boldness and their skill, you, gentlemen scholars,
stuffed full of learning as you are, can surely mount the terrace and
present some complimentary odes to make the occasion a perfect
success.”
“We are most willing to obey your commands,” they replied, all bowing
low.
At that time there was a band of four scholars named, Wang Lang, Chung
Yao, Wang Tsʻan and Chʻên Lin, and each of them presented a poem. Every
poem sang the praises of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s valuable services and great
merits and said he was worthy to receive the highest trust of all.
When Tsʻao Tsʻao had read them he laughed saying, “You gentlemen are
really too flattering. As a fact I am but an ignoramus who began life
with a simple bachelor’s degree. And when the troubles began I built me
a little cottage in the country near Chʻiaotung, where I could study in
spring and summer and spend the rest of the year in hunting till the
empire was once more tranquil and I could emerge and take office. To my
surprise I was chosen for a small military office which changed my
intentions and I determined to repress the rebellion and so make a name
for myself. I thought that I might win an inscription on my tomb to the
effect that it covered the remains of the Marquis Tsʻao, who had
restored order in the west. That would have been ample for a life’s
work. I recall now how I destroyed Tung Cho and smote the Yellow
Turbans; then I made away with Yüan Shu and broke the power of Lü Pu;
next I exterminated Yüan Shao and at the death of Liu Piao I had
subdued the whole empire. As a Minister of State I have attained the
topmost pinnacle of honour and I have no more to hope for. Were it not
for poor me, I know not how many there would be styling themselves
Emperor and dubbing themselves princes. Certain there be who, seeing my
great authority, think I have some ulterior aim. But they are quite
wrong. I ever bear in mind what Confucius said of Chou Kung, that he
was perfectly virtuous, and this saying is ever engraven on my mind. If
I could I would do away with my armies and retire to my fief with my
simple title of Marquis Wupʻing. Alas! I cannot. I am afraid to lay
down my military powers lest I should come to harm. Should I be
defeated, the State would totter and so I may not risk real misfortune
for the sake of an empty reputation for kindness. There be some of you
who do not know my heart.”
As he closed they all rose and bowed their heads saying, “None are your
equals, O Minister, not even Duke Chou or the great Minister I Yin.”
A poem has been written referring to this:—
Had Duke Chou, the virtuous, died, while foul-mouthed slander was
spreading her vile rumours;
Or Wang Mang, the treacherous, while he was noted for the deference
paid to learned men;
None would have known their real characters.
After this oration Tsʻao Tsʻao drank many cups of wine in quick
succession till he became very intoxicated. He bade his servants bring
him pencil and inkstone that he might compose a poem. But as he was
beginning to write they told him that the Marquis of Wu had sent Hua
Hsin as an envoy and presented a memorial to appoint Liu Pei governor
of Chingchou and that Sun Chʻüan’s sister was now Liu Pei’s wife, while
on the river Han the greater part of the nine districts was under Liu
Pei’s rule.
Tsʻao Tsʻao was seized with quaking fear at the news and threw the pen
on the floor. Chʻêng Yü said to him, “O Minister, you have been among
fighting men by myriads and in danger from stones and arrows many a
time and never quailed. Now the news that Liu Pei has got possession of
a small tract of country throws you into a panic. Why is it thus?”
Tsʻao Tsʻao replied, “Liu Pei is a dragon among men. All his life
hitherto he has never found his element, but now that he has obtained
Chingchou it is as if the dragon, once captive, had escaped to the
mighty deep. There is good reason for me to quake with fear.”
“Do you know the reason of the coming of Hua Hsin?” said Chʻêng.
“No; I know not,” said the Minister.
“Liu Pei is Sun Chʻüan’s one terror and he would attack him were it not
for you, O Minister. He feels you would fall upon him while he was
smiting his enemy. Wherefore he has taken this means of calming Liu
Pei’s suspicions and fears and at the same time directing your enmity
toward him and from himself.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao nodded; “Yes,” he said.
Chʻêng Yü continued, “Now this is my plan to set Sun and Liu at one
another and give you the opportunity to destroy both; it can be done
easily.”
“What is your plan?” asked Tsʻao.
“The one prop of Wu is Chou Yü; remove it by memorialising that Chou be
appointed Prefect of Nanchün. Then get Chʻêng Pʻu made Prefect of
Chianghsia and cause the Emperor to retain this Hua Hsin in the capital
to await some important post. Chou Yü will assuredly attack Liu Pei and
that will be our chance. Is not the scheme good?”
“Friend Chʻêng, you are a man after my own heart.”
Wherefore he summoned the emissary from Wu and overwhelmed him with
gifts. That day was the last of the feastings and merry-makings and
Tsʻao, with all the company, returned to the capital where he forthwith
presented a memorial assigning Chou Yü and Chʻêng Pʻu to the posts he
wished, and Hua Hsin was retained at the capital with a post of
dignity.
The messenger bearing the commissions for their new offices went down
to Wu and both Chou Yü and Chʻêng Pʻu accepted the appointments. Having
taken over his command the former thought all the more of the revenge
he contemplated and, to bring matters to a head, he wrote to Sun Chʻüan
asking him to send Lu Su and renew the demand for the rendition of
Chingchou.
Wherefore Lu Su was summoned and his master said to him, “You are the
guarantor in the loan of Chingchou to Liu Pei. He still delays to
return it and how long am I to wait?”
“The writing said plainly that the rendition would follow the
occupation of Ssŭchʻuan.”
Sun Chʻüan shouted back, “Yes it said so. But so far they have not
moved a soldier to the attack. I will not wait till old age has come to
us all.”
“I will go and enquire?” said Lu Su.
So he went down into a ship and sailed to Chingchou.
Meanwhile Liu Pei and Kʻung-ming were at Chingchou gathering in
supplies from all sides, drilling their men and training their armies.
From all quarters men of learning flocked to their side. In the midst
of this they heard of Lu Su’s coming and Liu Pei asked Kʻung-ming what
he thought of it.
Kʻung-ming replied, “Just lately Sun Chʻüan concerned himself with
getting you appointed Governor of Chingchou; that was calculated to
inspire Tsʻao Tsʻao with fear. Tsʻao Tsʻao obtained for Chou Yü the
Prefectship of Nanchün; that was designed to stir up strife between our
two houses and set us fighting so that he might accomplish his own
ends. This visit of Lu Su means that Chou Yü, having taken over his new
governorship, wishes to force us out of this place.”
“Then how shall we reply?”
“If he introduce the subject you will at once set up loud lamentations.
When the sound of lamentation is at its height I will appear and talk
over your visitor.”
Thus they planned and Lu Su was duly received with all honour. When the
salutations were over and host and guest were about to be seated, Lu Su
said, “Sir, now that you are the husband of a daughter of Wu you have
become my lord, and I dare not sit in your presence.”
Liu Pei laughed. “You are an old friend,” said he. “Why this excessive
humility?”
So Lu Su took his seat. And when tea had been served the guest said, “I
have come at the order of my master to discuss the subject of
Chingchou. You, O Imperial Uncle, have had the use of the place for a
long time. Now that your two houses are allied by marriage, there
should be the most friendly relations between you and you should hand
it back to my master.”
At this Yüan-tê covered his face and began to cry.
“What is the matter?” asked the guest.
Yüan-tê only wept the more bitterly.
Then Kʻung-ming came in from behind a screen saying, “I have been
listening. Do you know why my lord weeps so bitterly?”
“Really I know not.”
“But it is easy to see. When my lord got the temporary occupation of
Chingchou he gave the promise to return it when he had got the west
country. But reflect. Liu Chang of Ichou is my lord’s younger brother
and both of them are blood relations of the ruling family. If my lord
were to move an army to capture another city he fears the blame of the
ignorant. And if he yield this place before he has another, where could
he rest? Yet, while he retains this place it seems to shame you. The
thing is hard on both sides and that is why he weeps so bitterly.”
The close of Kʻung-ming’s speech seemed to move Yüan-tê to greater
grief for he beat his breast and stamped his feet and wept yet more
bitterly.
Lu Su attempted to console him saying, “Be not so distressed, O Uncle;
let us hear what Kʻung-ming can propose.”
“I would beg you to return to your master and tell him all. Tell him of
this great trouble and entreat him to let us stay here a little
longer.”
“But suppose he refuse; what then?” said Lu Su.
“How can he refuse since he is related by marriage to my master?” said
Kʻung-ming. “I shall expect to hear glad tidings through you.”
Lu Su was really the first of generous men and seeing Yüan-tê in such
distress he could do no other than consent and say he would do so.
Yüan-tê and Kʻung-ming both thanked him most cordially and after a
banquet the emissary went down into his ship to return. On the way he
called in to see Chou Yü and told him. But Chou stamped his foot with
rage and said, “My friend, you have been fooled again. Long ago when
Liu Pei was dependent on Liu Piao he always cherished the intention to
supplant him; think you that he really pities Liu Chang of Shu? This
sort of evasive policy will certainly cause you much trouble. However,
I have a scheme which I think Kʻung-ming will not be able to get the
better of. Only you will have to make another journey.”
“I should be pleased to hear your fine scheme,” said Lu Su.
“Do not go to see our master. Return to Chingchou and say to Liu Pei
that since his family and the Suns are related by marriage they really
form but one house, and since he has qualms about attacking the west we
will do it for him. We will march an army under this pretext, but
really go to Chingchou, and we shall take him unprepared. The road to
the west runs through his city and we will call upon him for supplies.
He will come out to thank the army and we will assassinate him whereby
we shall revenge ourselves and at the same time remove a source of
future evil.”
This seemed an excellent plan to Lu Su and he returned at once to
Chingchou. Before receiving him Yüan-tê talked over the matter with his
adviser.
Said Kʻung-ming, “He has not seen the Marquis, he has called in at
Chʻaisang and he and Chou Yü have decided upon some scheme, which he is
to talk you into accepting. However, let him talk; only watch me and
when I nod my head then agree to whatever he may propose.”
Lu Su was then admitted and said, “The Marquis of Wu praises the noble
virtue of the Imperial Uncle and after consultation with his officers
be has determined to take the western kingdom on his behalf and, that
done, Chingchou can be exchanged for it without further delay. However,
when the army marches through it will be expected of you to contribute
some necessary supplies.”
Kʻung-ming here nodded his head rapidly, at the same time saying, “We
could hardly have hoped for such kindness,” while Yüan-tê saluted with
joined hands and said, “This is due to your friendly efforts on our
behalf.”
“When the brave army arrives we shall certainly come out to meet it and
entertain the soldiers,” said Kʻung-ming.
Lu Su felt great satisfaction and was quite happy at his success; he
took his leave and went homeward. But Yüan-tê as yet did not
understand.
“What is their intention?” said he.
His adviser smiled. “Chou Yü’s end is very near. The ruse he is now
trying would not take in a boy.”
“Why?”
“This is the ruse known as ‘borrow a road to exterminate Kuo.’ Under
the pretence of taking the west they intend to capture this place, and
when you go out to compliment the army you will be seized and they will
dash into the city which they hope to find unprepared.”
“And what are we to do?”
“Have no anxiety; all we have to do is to prepare a hidden bow to get
the fierce tiger; to spread the enticing bait to hook the great
leviathan. Wait till Chou Yü comes; if he is not killed he will be
nine-tenths a corpse. We will call in Chao Yün for orders and give him
secret instructions and I will dispose the others.”
And Yüan-tê was glad.
Let Chou Yü lay what plans he will,
Kʻung-ming anticipates his skill;
That river land fair bait did look,
But he forgot the hidden hook.
Lu Su hastened back to Chou Yü to tell him that all was going as he
desired and Yüan-tê would come out to welcome the army. And Chou Yü
laughed with glee, saying, “At last! Now they will fall into my trap.”
He bade Lu Su prepare a petition for the information of the Marquis and
he ordered Chʻêng Pʻu to bring up reinforcements. He himself had nearly
recovered from the arrow wound and felt well. He made his dispositions
for the advance, telling off the leaders of the van and wings. The army
numbered five legions and Chou Yü marched with the second division.
While voyaging in his ship he was always smiling to think how he was to
have Kʻung-ming at last.
At Hsiakʻou he enquired if there was any one to welcome him. They told
him the Imperial Uncle had sent Mi Chu to greet him and he was called.
“What of the preparations for the army?” asked Chou Yü as soon as Mi
Chu came.
“My master has seen to that; all is prepared.” said Mi.
“Where is the Imperial Uncle?” asked Chou.
“He is at Chingchou, waiting outside the walls to offer you the cup of
greeting.”
“This expedition is on your account,” said Chou Yü. “When one
undertakes so long a march and such a task the rewards for the army
must be very substantial.”
Having got this idea of what Chou Yü expected, Mi Chu returned to his
own city, while the battle ships in close order sailed up the river and
took their places along the bank. As they went on the most perfect
tranquillity seemed to reign on all sides. Not a ship was visible
anywhere, and no one hindered. Chou Yü pressed forward till he came
quite near Chingchou and still the wide river lay calm. But the spies
who came back reported two white flags flying on the city walls.
Still not a man was seen and Chou Yü began to feel suspicious. He had
his ship navigated in shore and he himself landed on the bank, where he
mounted a horse and, with a small army of veterans under three
captains, travelled along the land road.
By and bye he came to the city wall. There was no sign of life. Reining
in his steed he bade them challenge the gate. Then some one from the
wall asked who was there. The men of Wu replied that it was their
General in person. Immediately was heard the thud of a club and the
wall became alive with men all armed. And from the tower came out Chao
Yün who said, “Why are you here, General?”
“I am going to take the west for you;” replied Chou Yü, “do you not
know?”
“Kʻung-ming knows that you want to try the ruse of ‘borrowing a road to
destroy Kuo.’ And so he stationed me here. And my master bade me say
that he and the ruler of the west country are both members of the
reigning family so that he could not think of such baseness as
attacking Shu. If you people of Wu do so, he will be forced to go away
into the mountains and become a recluse. He could not bear to lose the
confidence of mankind.”
At this Chou Yü turned his horse as if to return. Just then his scouts
came up to say that armed bands were moving toward him from all sides,
and Kuan Yü and Chang Fei led two of them. Their number was unknown but
the sound of their tramping shook the heavens. They said they wanted to
capture Chou Yü.
At these tidings Chou Yü’s excitement became so intense that he fell to
the ground with a great cry, and the old wound re-opened.
The game was now too deep; in vain he sought
A countermove; his efforts came to nought.
Later chapters will show what was Chou Yü’s fate.