HSU CHʻÜ STRIPS FOR A FIGHT WITH MA CHʻAO:
TSʻAO TSʻAO WRITES A LETTER TO SOW DISSENSION.
The fight narrated in the last chapter lasted till morn when each side
drew off, Ma Chʻao camping on the Wei River, whence he kept up
harassing attacks both day and night. Tsʻao Tsʻao, also camped in the
bed of the same river, began to construct three floating bridges out of
his rafts and boats so as to facilitate communication with the south
bank. Tsʻao Jên established a camp on the river, which he barricaded
with his carts and waggons.
Ma Chʻao determined to destroy this camp, so his men collected straw
and each man marched with a bundle and took fire with him. Han Sui’s
men were to fight. While one party attacked, the other party piled up
the straw, which they lit, and soon there was a fierce fire all around.
The defenders could do nothing against it so they abandoned the camp
and ran away. All the transport and bridges were destroyed. It was a
great victory for the Hsiliang army and gave them the command of the
River Wei.
Tsʻao Tsʻao was sad at the failure to make good his strong camp and
fearful of his defencelessness. Then Hsün Yu proposed a mud wall. So
three legions were set to build a mud rampart. The enemy seeing this
harassed the workmen with perpetual attacks at different points so that
the work went slowly. Beside the soil was very sandy and the wall would
not stand but collapsed as fast as it was built. Tsʻao Tsʻao felt
helpless.
It was the ninth month and the fierce cold of winter was just coming
on. Ominous clouds covered the sky day after day with never a break.
One day as Tsʻao Tsʻao sat in his tent, very disheartened, a stranger
was announced and was led in. He was an old man who said he had a
suggestion to offer. He was tall, sparely built and spiritual looking.
He gave his name as Lou Tzŭ-po and said he came from Ching-chao. He was
a recluse and a Taoist, his religious name being Mêng-mei or
“Plum-blossom Dreamer.” Tsʻao Tsʻao received him with great courtesy
and presently the venerable one began, “O Minister, you have long been
striving to make a camp on the river. Now is your opportunity; why not
begin?”
“The soil is too sandy to stand,” said Tsʻao. “But if you have some
other plan to propose, pray tell me what it is, O hermit.”
“You are more than human, O Minister, in the art of war, and you surely
know the times and seasons. It has been overcast for many days and
these clouds foretell a north wind and intense cold. When the wind
begins to blow you should hurry your men to carry up the earth and
sprinkle it with water. By dawn your wall will be complete.”
Tsʻao Tsʻao seized upon the suggestion. He offered his aged visitor a
reward but he would receive nothing.
That night the wind came down in full force. Every man possible was set
to earth-carrying and wetting. As they had no other means of carrying
water they made stuff bags which they filled with water and let out the
water over the earth. And so as they piled the earth they froze it
solid with water, and by dawn the wall was finished and stood firm.
When his scouts told Ma Chʻao that the enemy had built a wall, and he
had ridden out and seen it, he was greatly perplexed and began to
suspect help from the gods.
However, very soon after he got his whole army together and sounded an
attack. Tsʻao Tsʻao himself rode out of the camp, with only the
redoubtable Hsü Chʻu in attendance, and advanced toward the enemy.
Flourishing his whip he called out, “I, Mêng-tê, am here alone and I
beg Ma Chʻao to come out to parley with me.”
Thereupon Ma Chʻao rode out, his spear set ready to thrust.
“You despised me because I had no wall to my camp but lo! in one single
night, God has made me a wall. Do you not think it time to give in?”
Ma Chʻao was so enraged that he almost rushed at Tsʻao Tsʻao, but he
was not too angry to notice the henchman behind him, glaring in angry
fashion, who held a gleaming sword in his grip. He thought this man
could be no other than Hsü Chʻu, so he determined to find out. With a
flourish of his whip he said, “Where is the noble ‘Tiger Marquis’ that
I hear you have in your camp?”
At this Hsü lifted his sword and roared, “I am Hsü Chʻu of Chʻiaochün!”
From his eyes shot gleams of supernatural light and his attitude was so
terror-striking that Ma dared not move. He turned his steed and
retired.
Tsʻao Tsʻao and his doughty follower returned to their camp and as they
two passed between the armies not a man there but felt a quiver of
fear.
“They know our friend Hsü Chʻu over there as Marquis Tiger,” said Tsʻao
Tsʻao when he returned.
And thereafter the soldiers all called him by that name.
“I will capture that fellow Ma to-morrow,” said Hsü.
“Ma Chʻao is very bold,” said his master. “Be careful.”
“I swear to fight him to the death,” said Hsü.
Then he sent a written challenge to his enemy saying that the “Tiger
Marquis” challenged Ma Chʻao to a decisive duel on the morrow.
Ma Chʻao was very angry when he received the letter. “Dare he insult me
so?” cried he. Then he wrote his pledge to slay Tiger-lust on the
morrow.
Next day both armies moved out and arrayed in order of battle. Ma Chʻao
gave Pʻang Tê and Ma Tai command of the two wings, while Han Sui took
the centre. Ma Chʻao took up his station in front of the centre and
called to Tiger-lust to come out. Tsʻao Tsʻao, who was on horseback by
the standard, turned and said, “He is no less bold than Lü Pu.”
As he spoke, Hsü Chʻu rode forth whirling his sword and the duel began.
They fought over a hundred bouts and neither had the advantage. But
then, their steeds being spent with galloping to and fro, each retired
within his own lines and obtained a fresh mount. The contest was
renewed and a hundred more encounters took place, still without victory
to either.
Suddenly Hsü Chʻu galloped back to his own side, stripped off his
armour, showing his magnificent muscles and, naked as he was, leaped
again into the saddle and rode out to continue the battle.
Again the champions engaged, while both armies stood aghast. Thirty
bouts more, and Hsü, summoning up all his force, plunged toward Ma with
his sword held high to strike. But Ma avoided the stroke and rode in
with his spear pointing directly at his opponent’s heart. Throwing down
his sword, Hsü dashed aside the spear, which passed underneath his arm.
Then ensued a struggle for the spear and Hsü by a mighty effort snapped
the shaft so that each held one half. Then the duel was continued, each
belabouring the other with the pieces of the broken spear.
At this point Tsʻao Tsʻao began to fear for his champion and so ordered
two of his captains to go out and take a hand. At this Pʻang Tê and Ma
Tai gave the signal to their armoured horsemen to attack. They rode in
and a mêlée began in which Tsʻao’s men were worsted and the great
champion Hsü Chʻu received two arrow wounds in the shoulder. So the men
of Tsʻao retreated to their stockade, Ma Chʻao following them to the
river. Tsʻao’s men lost more than half their number.
Tsʻao barred his gates and allowed none to go out. Ma Chʻao went down
to the river. When he saw Han Sui he said, “I have seen some wicked
fighters, but none to match that man. He is aptly nicknamed
Tiger-lust.”
Thinking that by strategy he might get the better of Ma Chʻao, Tsʻao
Tsʻao secretly sent two bodies of men across the river to take up
position so that he might attack in front and rear.
One day from his ramparts, Tsʻao Tsʻao saw Ma Chʻao and a few horsemen
ride close up to the walls and then gallop to and fro like the wind.
After gazing at them for a long time he tore off his helmet and dashed
it on the ground saying, “If that Ma is not killed may I never be
buried!”
Hsiahou Yüan heard him and his heart burned within him. He cried, “May
I die here at once if I do not destroy that rebel!”
Without more ado he flung open the gates and rode out with his company.
Tsʻao Tsʻao tried to stop this mad rush, but it was no good, so,
fearing he might come to grief, he rode out after him. At sight of the
men of Tsʻao, Ma Chʻao faced his men about extended them in line and,
as the enemy approached, dashed forward to the attack. Then noticing
Tsʻao himself among them he left Hsiahou and rode straight for Tsʻao.
Panic seized Tsʻao and he rode for his life, while his men were thrown
into confusion.
It was during the pursuit of this portion of the Tsʻao army that Ma
Chʻao was told of the force on the other bank of the river. Realising
the danger he abandoned the pursuit, called in his men and went to his
own camp, there to consult with Han Sui.
“What now? Tsʻao has crossed the river and we can be attacked in the
rear,” said Ma.
A certain Li Kʻan said, “Then you had better come to an agreement;
sacrifice some territory and make peace. Then both can repose through
the winter and await the changes and chances that may come with the
spring warmth.”
“He is wise,” said Han Sui, “and I advise the same.”
But Ma Chʻao hesitated. Others exhorted him to make peace and at length
he agreed. So Yang Chʻiu and Hou Hsüan were sent as messengers of peace
to the camp of Tsʻao Tsʻao.
“You may return; I will send my reply,” said Tsʻao when they had
declared the purport of their mission. And they left.
Then Chia Yu said to Tsʻao Tsʻao, “What is your opinion, O Minister?”
“What is yours?” asked Tsʻao.
“War allows deceit, therefore pretend to agree. Then we can try some
means of sowing suspicions between Han and Ma so that we may thereby
destroy both.”
Tsʻao clapped his hands for very joy. “That is the best idea of all!
Most suitable! You and I agree in our ideas; I was just thinking of
that.”
So an answer was returned saying, “Let me gradually withdraw my
soldiers and I will give back the land belonging to you on the west of
the river.” And at the same time Tsʻao ordered the construction of a
floating bridge to help in the withdrawal.
When the reply arrived, Ma Chʻao said to Han Sui, “Although he agrees
to peace, yet he is evil and crafty. We must remain prepared against
his machinations. Uncle, you and I will take turns in watching Tsʻao
and Hsü Huang on alternate days. So shall we be safe against his
treachery.”
They agreed and began the regular alternate watch. Soon Tsʻao got to
know what they were doing and he turned to Chia Hsü saying, “I am
succeeding.”
“Who keeps the look-out on this side to-morrow?” asked Tsʻao.
“Han Sui.”
Next day Tsʻao at the head of a large party of his captains rode out of
the camp and the officers presently spread out right and left, he
himself remaining a solitary rider visible in the centre. Han Sui did
not know that Tsʻao had come out. Presently Tsʻao called out, “Do any
of you soldiers want to see Tsʻao Tsʻao? Here I am quite alone. I have
not four eyes nor a couple of mouths, but I am very knowing.”
The soldiers turned pale with fright. Then Tsʻao called up a man and
told him to go and see Han Sui and say “Sir, the Minister humbly asks
you to come and confer with him.” Thereupon Han went out, and seeing
Tsʻao wore no armour, Han also threw off his and rode out clad in a
light robe. Each rode up to the other till their horse’s heads nearly
touched and there they stood talking.
Said Tsʻao, “Your father and I took our degrees at the same time and I
used to treat him as an uncle. You and I set out on our careers at the
same time, too, and yet we have not met for years. How old may you be
now?”
“I am forty six,” replied Han.
“In those old days in the capital we were both very young and never
thought about middle age. If we could only restore tranquillity to the
State, that would be a matter of rejoicing.”
After that they chatted long about old times, but neither said a word
on military matters. They gossiped for a couple of hours before they
took leave of each other.
It was not long before some one told Ma Chʻao of this meeting and he
went over to his ally to ask about it.
“What was it Tsʻao Tsʻao came out to discuss to-day?” said he.
“He just recalled the old days when we were together in the capital.”
“Did he say nothing about military matters?”
“Not a word; and I could not talk about them alone.”
Ma Chʻao went out without a word but he felt suspicious.
When Tsʻao returned to his camp he said to Chia Hsü, “Do you know why I
talked with him thus publicly?”
“It may be an excellent idea,” said Hsü, “but it is not sufficient
simply to estrange two people. I can improve on it and we will make
them quarrel and even kill each other.”
“What is your scheme?”
“Ma Chʻao is brave but not very astute. You write a letter with your
own hand to Han himself and put in it some rambling statements about
some harm that is going to happen. Then blot it out and write something
else. Afterwards you will send it to Han, taking care that Ma shall
know all about it. He will demand to read the letter, and when he sees
that the important part of the letter has been changed, he will think
that Han Sui has made the changes lest his secrets should leak out.
This will fit into the private talk you had with Han the other day and
the suspicion will grow until it has brought about trouble. I can also
secretly corrupt some of his subordinates and get them to widen the
breach and we can settle Ma Chʻao.”
“The scheme looks excellent,” said Tsʻao, and he wrote the letter as
suggested, and then erased and changed it, after which he sealed it
securely and sent it across to Han Sui.
Surely enough some one told Ma Chʻao about the letter, which increased
his doubts, and he came to Han Sui’s quarters to ask to see it. Han
gave it to him and the erasures and alterations struck Ma at once.
“Why are all these alterations here?” asked he.
“It came like that; I do not know.”
“Does any one send a rough draft like this? It seems to me, Uncle, that
you are afraid I shall know something or other too well and so you have
changed the wording.”
“It must be that Tsʻao has sealed up the rough draft by mistake.”
“I do not think so. He is a careful man and would not make such a
mistake. You and I, Uncle, have been allies in trying to slay the
rebel; why are you turning against me now?”
“If you doubt my word I will tell you what you can do. To-morrow, in
full view of the army, I will get Tsʻao Tsʻao to come out and talk. You
can hide in behind the ranks ready to kill me if I am false.”
“That being so I shall know that you are true, Uncle.”
This arrangement made, next day Han Sui with five captains in his
train, rode to the front while Ma Chʻao concealed himself behind the
great standard. Han Sui sent over to say that he wished to speak to the
Minister.
Thereupon at his command, Tsʻao Hung, with a train of ten horsemen rode
out, advanced straight to Han Sui, leaned over to him and said, loudly
enough to be heard plainly, “Last night the Minister quite understood
there is no mistake.” Then without another word on either side he rode
away.
Ma Chʻao had heard. He gripped his spear and started galloping out to
slay his companion in arms. But the five captains checked him and
begged him to go back to camp. When Han Sui saw him, he said, “Nephew,
trust me, really I have no evil intentions.”
But think you that Ma Chʻao did? Burning with rage he went away. While
Han Sui talked over the matter with his five captains.
“How can this be cleared up?”
“Ma Chʻao trusts too much to his strength,” said Yang Chʻiu, one of
them. “He is always inclined to despise you, Sir. If we overcome Tsʻao
Tsʻao do you think he will give way to you? I think you should rather
take care of your own interests, go over to the Minister’s side and you
will surely get rank one day.”
“I was his father’s pledged brother and could not bear to desert him,”
said Han Sui.
“It seems to me that as things have come to this pass you simply have
to now.”
“Who would act as go-between?” asked Han.
“I will,” said Yang Chʻiu.
Then Han Sui wrote a private letter which he confided to Yang Chʻiu,
who soon found his way over to the other camp. Tsʻao Tsʻao was only too
pleased, and he promised that Han Sui should be made Marquis of
Hsiliang and Yang Chʻiu its Prefect. The other confederates should be
rewarded in other ways. When the preparations for the act of treachery
were complete a bonfire was to be lighted in Han’s camp and all would
try to do away with Ma Chʻao.
Yang Chʻiu went back and related all this to his chief and Han Sui felt
elated at the success of his overtures. A lot of wood was collected in
camp at the back of his tent ready for the signal blaze and the five
captains got ready for the foul deed. It was decided that Ma Chʻao
should be persuaded into coming to a banquet and there they would slay
him then.
All this was done, but not without some hesitation and delay, and some
news of the plot reached Ma Chʻao. He found out the careful
preparations that had been made and resolved to act first. Leaving Ma
Tai and Pʻang Tê in reserve, he chose a few trusted men and with
stealthy steps made his way into Han Sui’s tent. There he found Han Sui
and his five confederates deep in conversation. He just caught a word
or two that Yang Chʻiu said, “We must not delay, now is the time.”
In burst Ma Chʻao raging and yelling, “You herd of rebels! Would you
dare to plot against me?”
They were taken aback. Ma Chʻao sprang at Han Sui and slashed at his
face. Sui put up his hand to ward off the blow and it was cut off. The
five drew their swords and set on Ma Chʻao and his men who rushed
outside, followed by the five who slashed away, but were kept at bay by
Ma Chʻao’s wonderful swordsmanship. And as the swords flashed, the red
blood flowed. Soon one of the five was down and a second disabled; then
the other three fled.
Ma Chʻao ran back into the tent to finish Han Sui but the servants had
removed him. Then a torch was lit, and soon there was commotion all
through the camp. Ma Chʻao mounted his horse, for Pʻang Tê and Ma Tai
had now arrived, and the real fight began. Tsʻao’s men poured in from
all sides and the Hsiliang men fought with each other.
Losing sight of his companions, Ma Chʻao and a few of his men got to
the head of the floating bridge over the Wei just about dawn. There he
fell across Li Kʻan coming over the bridge. Ma Chʻao set his spear and
rode at him full tilt. Li Kʻan let go his spear and fled. Lucky for him
it seemed at first that Yü Chin came up in pursuit. But unable to get
near enough to seize Ma Chʻao, Yü Chin sent an arrow flying after him.
Ma Chʻao’s ear caught the twang of the bowstring and he dodged the
arrow, which flew on and killed Li Kʻan. Ma Chʻao turned to attack his
pursuer, who galloped away, and then he returned and took possession of
the bridge.
Quickly Tsʻao’s men gathered about him and the fiercest among them, the
Tiger Guards, shot arrows at Ma Chʻao, which he warded off with his
spear shaft so that they fell harmless to the earth. Ma Chʻao and his
men rode to and fro striking a blow wherever there was a chance, but
the enemy were very thick about him and he could not force his way out.
In desperation he made a dash northwards and got through, but quite
alone. Of his followers every one fell.
Still he kept on dashing this way and that till he was brought down by
a crossbow bolt. He lay upon the ground and his enemies were pressing
in. But at the critical moment a troop came in from the north-west and
rescued him. Pʻang Tê and Ma Tai had come up in the very nick of time.
Thus Ma Chʻao was rescued and they set him on one of the soldiers’
horses and he again took up the battle. Leaving a trail of blood in his
rear he got away north-west.
Hearing that his enemy had got away, Tsʻao Tsʻao ordered his captains
to pursue him day and night and offered rewards for him dead or alive.
For his head the reward was a thousand taels and the marquisate of a
fief of a myriad families. If any one captured Ma the reward was the
rank of general. Consequently the pursuit was warm as every one was
anxious to win renown and reward. Meanwhile careless of all but flight
Ma galloped on and one by one his followers dropped by the way. The
footmen who were unable to keep up were captured till very few remained
and only some score of riders were left. They travelled toward Shênsi.
Tsʻao Tsʻao in person joined the pursuit and got to Anting, but there
Ma Chʻao was still far in advance so he gave up and returned. Gradually
the captains did the same, all coming back to Chʻangan. Poor Han Sui,
with the loss of his left hand, was an invalid, but he was rewarded
with the marquisate and his confederates, the five captains, were given
rank and office.
Then orders were given to lead the whole army back to the capital. Yang
Fou, a military officer of rank, came to Chʻangan to point out the
danger of withdrawal. “Ma Chʻao has the boldness of Lü Pu and the heart
of a barbarian. Unless you destroy him this time he will come again and
he will be both bolder and stronger, and the whole of this district
will be lost to the Throne. Wherefore you should not withdraw your
army.”
Tsʻao said, “I would be quite willing to finish the subjugation but
there is much to do in the capital and the south is still to conquer.
So I cannot remain. But you, Sir, might secure this country for me. Do
you consent?”
Yang Fou did consent. And he brought to Tsʻao Tsʻao’s notice Wei Kʻang,
who was made Governor, with joint military powers. Just before Yang Fou
left he said to Tsʻao Tsʻao, “A strong force ought to be left in
Chʻangan, as a reserve in case they be required.”
“That has been already dealt with,” replied Tsʻao.
Contentedly enough Yang Fou took leave and went away.
His captains asked Tsʻao to explain his recent policy, since the first
out-break at Tʻung Pass and he replied, “The rebel first held the Pass.
Had I forthwith taken the east the rebels would have defended the camps
one by one and mustered at all the ferries, and I should never have got
across the river. So I massed men against Tʻung Pass and made the
rebels guard the south so that the west was left open. Thus Hsü Huang
and Chu Ling could cross over and I was able later to cross over to the
north. Then I made the raised road and the mud rampart to deceive the
enemy and cause them to think I was weak and thus embolden them up to
the point of attacking without proper preparation. Then I used the
clever device of causing dissension in their ranks and was able in one
day to destroy the stored up energy of all their forces. It was a
thunder clap before you could cover your ears. Yes indeed; the
mutations of the art of war can be called infinite.”
“But one thing more puzzled us,” said the officers, “and we ask you to
explain it. When you heard the enemy was reinforced you seemed to grow
happier. Why was that?”
“Because the Pass was distant and if the rebels had taken advantage of
all defensible points and held them, they could not have been quelled
in less than a couple of years. When they came on altogether they made
a multitude but they were not unanimous. They easily quarrelled and,
disunited, were easily overcome. So I had reason to rejoice that they
came on altogether.”
“Indeed no one can equal you in strategy,” said his officers, bowing
low before him.
“Still, remember that I rely on you,” said Tsʻao.
Then he issued substantial rewards to the army and appointed Hsiahou
Yüan to the command at Chʻangan. The soldiers who had surrendered were
distributed among the various troops. Hsiahou Yüan recommended Fêng I,
and one, Chang Chi, of Kaoling, as his aids.
So the army returned to the capital where it was welcomed by the
Emperor in his State chariot. As a reward for his service Tsʻao Tsʻao
was given the court privileges of omitting his distinctive name when he
was received in audience and of proceeding toward the daïs without
assuming the appearance of frantic haste. Further he might go to court
armed and booted, as did the Han Minister, Hsiao Ho, of old. Whence his
prestige and importance waxed mightily.
The fame of these doings penetrated west into Hanchung, and one of the
first to be moved to indignation was Chang Lu, Prefect of Hanning. This
Chang Lu was a grandson of Chang Ling who retired to Mount Humin, in
Ssŭchʻuan, where he had composed a work on Taoism for the purpose of
deluding the multitude.
Yet all the people respected him, and when he died his son, Chang Hêng,
carried on his work, and taught the same doctrines. Disciples had to
pay a fee in rice, five measures. The people of his day called him the
Rice Thief.
Chang Lu, his son, styled himself Master Superior and his disciples
were called commonly devil soldiers. A headman was called Libationer
and those who made many converts were called Chief Libationers. Perfect
sincerity was the ruling tenet of the cult and no deceit was permitted.
When any one fell ill an altar was set up and the invalid was taken
into the Room of Silence where he could reflect upon his sins and
confess openly. Then he was prayed for. The director of prayers was
called Superintending Libationer.
When praying for a person they wrote his name on a slip and his
confession and made three copies thereof, called “The writing of the
Three Officers.” One copy was burned on the mountain top as a means of
informing Heaven; another was burned to inform Earth; and the third was
sunk in water to tell the Controller of the Waters. If the sick person
recovered he paid as fee five measures of rice.
They had Public Houses of Charity wherein the poor found rice and flesh
and means of cooking. Any wayfarer was allowed to take of these
according to the measure of his appetite. Those who took in excess
would invite punishment from on high. Offences were pardoned thrice;
afterwards offenders were punished. They had no officials but all were
subject to the control of the Libationers.
This sort of cult had been spreading in Hanchung for some thirty years
and had escaped repression so far because of the remoteness of the
district. All the Government did was to give Chang a title and take
means to secure from him a full quota of tribute.
When the reports of Tsʻao Tsʻao’s success against the west, and his
prestige and influence, reached the Hanchung people they met to
consult, for they feared lest, Tʻêng and Ma being overcome, they would
be next invaded. This Chang proposed to the assembly that he should
assume the title of Prince of Hanning and superintend the defence.
In reply one Yen Pu said, “The families of this province are reckoned
by myriads and there are ample supplies of everything. This place is a
natural stronghold. Now Ma Chʻao’s soldiers are newly defeated. The
fugitives from the Tzŭwu Valley are very numerous. My advice is that as
Liu Chang of Ichou is weak we should take possession of Hsichʻuan and
then you may style yourself Prince as soon as you like.”
This speech greatly pleased Chang Lu, who then began to concert
measures with his brother to raise an army.
Stories of the movement reached Hsichʻuan. It is necessary here to say
a few words about the west. The governor was Liu Chang, a son of Liu
Yen, a descendant from a Prince of the Imperial House. The Prince had
been moved out to Chingling some generations ago and the family had
settled there. Later, Liu Yen became an official and when he died in
due course, his son was recommended for the vacant Prefectship of
Ichou. There was enmity between the Prefect and the Changs because some
of the latter’s relatives had been put to death.
When he knew of the danger, Liu Chang despatched one Pʻang Hsi as
Prefect of Pahsi to ward off Chang Lu. But Liu Chang had always been
feeble, and when he received news from his lieutenant of Chang Lu’s
movements his heart sank within him for fear and he hastily called in
his advisers.
At the council one haughtily said, “My Master, be not alarmed, I am no
genius but I have a bit of a healthy tongue and with that I will make
Chang Lu afraid even to look this way.”
When plots did grow about the west,
It suited Chingchou’s plans the best.
The speaker’s name and lineage will be told in the next chapter.