San Kuo/Volume 1/Chapter 34
CHAPTER XXXIV.
A Woman Overhears a Secret:
A Warrior Leaps a Stream.
The story says that the diggers at the spot whence the golden light proceeded presently unearthed a bronze bird. Looking as at it, Ts‘ao turned to his companion, saying, “What is the portent?”
“You will remember that Shun’s mother dreamed of a jade bird before his birth, so certainly it is a felicitous omen,” said Hsün Yü.
Ts‘ao was very pleased and he ordered forthwith the building of a lofty tower to celebrate the find, and they began to dig foundations and cut timber, to burn tiles and to smooth bricks for the Bronze Bird Tower on the banks of the Chang River. Ts‘ao set a year for the building.
His younger son, Chih, said, “If you build a terraced tower you should add two others, one on each side. The centre tower and the tallest should be called The Bronze Bird Tower; the side towers named Jade Dragon Tower and Golden Phœnix Tower. Then connect these by flying bridges and the effect will be noble.”
“My son, your words are very good and by and bye when the building is complete I can solace my old age therein.”
Ts‘ao Ts‘ao had five sons, but this one Chih was the most clever and his essays were particularly elegant. His father was very fond of him and, seeing that the young man took an interest in the building, Ts‘ao left him with his brother P‘ei at Yehchün to superintend the work, while he led the army that had recently conquered the Yüans back to the capital. When he arrived he distributed rewards liberally and memorialised the throne obtaining the title of “The Pure Marquis” for the late Kuo Chia. And he took Kuo’s son to be brought up in his own family.
Next he began to consider the reduction of Liu Piao’s power. Hsün Yü said, “The Grand Army has only just returned from the north and needs rest. Wait half a year that the men may recover from the fatigue of the campaign and both Liu Piao and Sun Ch‘ûan will fall at the first roll of the drums.”
Presently Ts‘ao approved of this plan and to rest his men he assigned certain lands to them to till while they rested.
Liu Piao had been very generous to Liu Pei ever since he had come, a fugitive seeking shelter. One day at a banquet there came news that two captains, who had tendered their submission, had suddenly begun plundering the people in Chiangshia. They evidently meant rebellion. “If they really rebel it will cause a lot of trouble,” said Piao, rather dismayed.
“Do not let that trouble you, I will go and settle it,” said P‘ei.
Pleased with this proposal, Piao told off three legions and placed them under his friend, and the army marched as soon as the orders were issued. In a short time it reached the scene and the two malcontents came out to fight. Yüan-tê and his two brothers took their stand beneath the great banner and looked over at the enemy. The two leaders were riding handsome prancing horses and Yüan-tê said, “They certainly have fine steeds.”
As he spoke Chao Yün galloped out with his spear set and dashed toward the enemy. Chang Wu, one of the leaders, came out to meet him, but the combat was very brief for Chang was soon killed. Thereupon Chao Yün laid a hand upon the bridle of the fallen man’s horse to lead him back to this own side. The slain rebel’s companion Ch‘ên Sun at once rode after him, whereupon Chang Fei uttered a loud shout and rode out to meet him. With one thrust he slew the rebel. Their followers now scattered and Yüan-tê speedily restored order and returned.
Liu Piao, grateful for this service, rode out to the boundary to welcome the victors. They re-entered the city and grand banquets were instituted, at which they emptied great goblets in congratulations over the victory. At one of these banquets the Prefect said, “With such heroism as my brother has shown Chingchou has one upon whom to rely. But a source of sorrow is the south country Yueh, from which a raid may come at any time. Chang Lu and Sun Ch‘üan are to be feared.”
“But I have three bold captains,” said Yüan-tê, “quite equal to any task you can set them. Send Chang Fei to keep ward on the southern marches, Kuan Yü to guard the city against Chang Lu and Chao Yün will protect you from Sun Ch‘üan. Why need you grieve?”
The scheme appealed strongly to the Prefect, but Ts‘ai Mao did not approve. So he spoke to his sister, Lio Piao’s wife, and insisted on the danger of putting these men in such commanding positions all round the prefecture. The lady Ts‘ai, thus influenced by her brother, undertook to remonstrate and that night began by saying, “The Chingchou men seem to have a great liking for Liu Pei; they are always coming and going. You ought to take precautions. I do not think you should let they stay in the city. Why not send them on some mission?”
“Yüan-tê is a good man,” replied the Prefect.
“I think others differ from you,” said the lady.
The Prefect said nothing but muttered to himself. Soon after he went out of the city to see Yüan-tê and noticed he was riding a very handsome horse. They told him it was a prize taken from the recently conquered rebels, and as he praised it very warmly, the horse was presented to him. Liu Piao was delighted and rode it back to the city. K‘uai Yüeh saw it and asked where it had come from. The Prefect told him it was a gift from Liu P‘ei and Yüeh said, “My brother knew horses very well and I am not a bad judge. This horse has tear-tracks running down from his eyes and a white blaze on his forehead. He is called a tilu and he is a danger to his master. That is why Chang Wu was killed. I advise you not to ride him.”
The Prefect began to think. Soon after he asked Yüan-tê to a banquet and in the course of it said, “You kindly presented me with a horse lately and I am most grateful, but you may need him on some of your expeditions and, if you do not mind, I would like to return him.”
Yüan-tê rose and thanked him. The Prefect continued, “You have been here a long time and I fear I am spoiling your career as a warrior. Now Hsinyeh in Hsiangjang is no poverty-stricken town; how would you like to garrison it with your own men?”
Yüan-tê naturally took the offer as a command and set out as soon as he could, taking leave of the Prefect the next day. And so he took up his quarters in Hsinyeh. When he left the city he noticed in the gate a person making him emphatic salutations and the man presently said, “You should not ride that horse.”
Yüan-tê looked at the man and recognised in the speaker one of the secretaries named I Chi, a native of Shanyang. So he hastily dismounted and asked why. I Chi replied, “Yesterday I heard that K‘uai Yüeh told the Prefect that that horse was a tilu and brought disaster to its owner. That is why it was returned to you. How can you mount it again?”
“I am deeply touched by your affection,” replied Yüan-tê, “but a man’s life is governed by fate and what horse can interfere with that?”
I Chi admitted his superior view, but thereafter he followed Yüan-tê wherever he went.
The arrival of Liu P‘ei in Hsinyeh was a matter of rejoicing to all the inhabitants and the whole administration was reformed.
In the spring of the twelfth year the Lady Kan gave birth to a son who was named Ch‘an. The night of his birth a crane settled on the roof of the house, screeched some forty times and then flew away westward.
Just at the time of birth a miraculous incense filled the chamber. Lady Kan one night had dreamed that she was looking up at the sky and the constellation of the Great Bear, Peitou, had fallen down her throat. As she conceived soon after she gave her son the milk-name of O-tou.
While Ts‘ao Ts‘ao was absent from the capital on his northern expedition, Liu P‘ei went to Liu Piao and said to him, “Why do you not take this opportunity to march against the capital? An empire might follow from that.”
“I am well placed here,” was the reply, “Why should I attempt other things?”
Yüan-tê said no more. Then the Prefect invited him into the private apartments to drink and while they were so engaged he suddenly began to sigh despondently.
“O brother, why do you sigh thus?” asked Yüan-tê.
“I have a secret sorrow that is difficult to speak about,” said Piao.
Yüan-tê was on the point of asking what it was when the Lady Ts‘ai came and stood behind the screen, whereat Piao hung his head and became silent. Before long host and guest bade each other farewell and Liu P‘ei went back to his own place.
That winter they heard that Ts‘ao Ts‘ao had returned from Liuch‘êng and Liu P‘ei sighed when he reflected that his friend had paid no heed to his advice.
Unexpectedly a messenger came from the principal city with a request that Liu P‘ei would go thither to consult with the Prefect. So he started at once with the messenger. He was received very kindly, and when the salutations were over, the two men went into the private quarters at the rear to dine. Presently the host said, “Ts‘ao has returned and he is stronger than ever. I am afraid he means to absorb this district. I am sorry I did not follow your advice for I have missed an opportunity.”
“In this period of disruption, with strife on every side, one cannot pretend that there will be no more opportunities. If you only take that what offers there will be nothing to regret.”
“What you say, brother, is quite to the point,” replied Liu Piao.
They drank on for a time till presently Liu P‘ei noticed that his host was weeping, and when he asked the cause of these tears, Piao replied, “It is that secret sorrow I spoke of to you before; I wished to tell you, but there was no opportunity that day.”
“O brother, what difficulty have you, and can I assist you? I am entirely at your service.”
“My wife, of the Ch‘ên family, bore me a son Ch‘i, my eldest. He grew up virtuous but weakly and unfitted to succeed me in my office. Later I took a wife of the Ts‘ai family, who bore me a son named Ts‘ung, fairly intelligent. If I pass over the elder in favour of the younger there is the breach of the rule of primogeniture, and if I follow law and custom there are the intrigues of the mother’s family and clan to be reckoned with. Further, the army is in the hollow of their hands. There will be trouble and I cannot decide what to do.”
Liu P‘ei said, “All experience proves that to set aside the elder for the younger is to take the way of confusion. If you fear the power of the Ts‘ai faction, then gradually reduce its power and influence, but do not let doting affection lead you into making the younger your heir.”
Piao agreed. But the Lady Ts‘ai had had a suspicion why her lord had summoned Liu P‘ei and what was the subject of discussion, so she had determined to listen secretly. She was behind the screen when the matter was talked over and she conceived deep resentment against Liu P‘ei for what he had said. On his side he felt that his advice had fallen upon deaf ears and he arose and walked across the room. As he did so he noticed that he was getting heavy and stiff and a furtive tear stole down his cheek as he thought of the past. When he returned and sat down his host noticed the traces of weeping and asked the cause of his sorrow.
“In the past I was always in the saddle and I was slender and lithe. Now it is so long since I rode that I am getting stout and the days and months are slipping by, wasted; I shall have old age on me in no time and I have accomplished nothing. So I am sad.”
“I have heard a story that when you were at Hsucheng at the season of green plums you and Ts‘ao Ts‘ao were discussing heroes. You mentioned this name and that to him as men of parts and he rejected every one of them. Finally he said that you and he were the only two men of real worth in the whole country. If he with all his power and authority did not dare to place himself in front of you, I do not think you need grieve about having accomplished nothing.”
At this flattering speech Liu P‘ei pretended that the wine was getting the better of him and in a half maudlin manner he replied, “If I only had a starting point then I would not trouble about any one in a worldful of fools.”
His host said no more and the guest, feeling that he had slipped up in speech, rose as if drunk, took leave and staggered out saying he must return to his lodging to recover.
The episode has been celebrated in a poem:—
When with crooking fingers counting,
Ts‘ao Ts‘ao reckoned up the forceful
Men of real determination,
Only two he found; and one was
Yüan-tê. But by inaction
He had grown both fat and slothful;
Yet the months and years in passing
Fretted him with nought accomplished.
Though Liu Piao kept silence when he heard the words of Yüan-tê, yet he felt the more uneasy. After the departure of his guest he retired into the inner quarters where he met his wife. The Lady Ts‘ai said, “I happened to be behind the screen just now and so heard the words of Liu P‘ei. They betray scant regard for other people and mean that he would take your country if he could. If you do not remove him it will go ill with you.”
Her husband made no reply, but only shook his head. Then the Lady Ts‘ai took counsel with her kinsman Ts‘ai Mao, who said, “Let me go to the guest-house and slay him forthwith, and we can report what we have done.”
His sister consented and he went out, and that night told off a party of soldiers to do the foul deed.
Now Yüan-tê sat in his lodging by the light of a single candle till about the third watch, when he prepared to retire to bed. He was startled by a knock at his door and in came I Chi, who had heard of the plot against his new master and had come in the darkness to warn him. He related the details of the plot and urged speedy departure.
“I have not said farewell to my host; how can I go away?” said Liu P‘ei.
“If you go to bid him farewell you will fall a victim to the Ts‘ai faction,” said I Chi.
So Yüan-tê said a hasty good-bye to his friend, called up his escort and they all mounted and rode away by the light of the stars toward Hsinyeh. Soon after they had left the soldiers arrived at the guest-house, but their intended victim was already well on his way.
Naturally the failure of the plot chagrined the treacherous Ts‘ai Mao, but he took the occasion to scribble some calumnious verses on one of the partitions. Then he went to see Liu Piao to whom he said, “Liu P‘ei has treacherous intentions, as can be seen from some lines written on the wall. And his hurried departure is suspicious.”
Liu Piao felt doubtful, but he went to the guest-house and there on the wall he read this poem:
Too long, far too long I have dreamed life away,
Gazing at scenery day after day.
A dragon can never be kept in a pond,
He should ride on the thunder to heaven and beyond.
Greatly angered by what he read, Liu Piao drew his sword and swore to slay the writer. But before he had gone many paces his anger had already died down and he said to himself, “I have seen much of the man, but have never known him write verses. This is the handiwork of some one who wishes to sow discord between us.”
So saying he turned back and with the point of his sword scraped away the poem. Then, putting up his sword, he mounted and rode home. By and bye Ts‘ai Mao reminded him that the soldiers were awaiting orders and asked whether they could go to Hsinyeh and arrest Liu P‘ei.
“There is no hurry,” he replied.
Ts‘ai Mao saw his brother-in-law’s hesitation and again sought his sister. She said, “Soon there is to be the great gathering at Hsiangyang and we can arrange something for that day.”
Next day Ts‘ai Mao petitioned the Prefect, saying, “I pray you, Sir, to attend the Full Harvest Festival at Hsiangyang; it would be an encouragement to the people.”
“I have been feeling my old trouble lately; I certainly cannot go,” replied he, “but my two sons can go to represent me and receive the guests.”
“They are full young,” replied Mao, “They may make some mistakes.”
“Then go to Hsinyeh and request Liu P‘ei to receive the guests,” said Piao.
Nothing could have pleased Ts‘ai Mao more, for this would bring Liu P‘ei within reach of his plot. Without loss of time he sent to Yüan-tê requesting him to go to preside at the Festival.
It has been said that Yüan-tê made the best of his way home to Hsinyeh. He felt that he had offended by that slip in speech, but determined to keep silence about it and attempt no explanation. So he discussed it with nobody. Then came the message asking him to preside at the Festival, and he needed counsel.
Sun Ch‘ien said, “You have seemed worried and preoccupied lately and I think something untoward happened at Chingchou. You should consider well before you accept this invitation.”
Thereupon Yüan-tê told his confidants the whole story.
Kuan Yü said, “You yourself think your speech offended the Prefect, but he said nothing to show displeasure. You need pay no attention to the babble of outsiders. Hsiangyang is quite near and, if you do not go, Liu Chinchou will begin to suspect something really is wrong.”
“You speak well,” said Yüan-tê.
Said Chang Fei, “Banquets are no good; gatherings are no better; it is best not to go.”
“Let me take three hundred horse and foot as escort; there will be no trouble then,” said Chao Yün.
“That is the best course,” said Yüan-tê.
They soon set out for the gathering place and Ts‘ai Mao met them at the boundary and was most affable and courteous. Soon arrived the Prefect’s sons at the head of a great company of officers, civil and military. Their appearance put Yüan-tê more at ease. He was conducted to the guest-house and Chao Yün posted his men so as to guard it completely, while he himself, armed, remained close to his chief.
Liu Ch‘i said to Yüan-tê, “My father is feeling unwell and could not come, wherefore he begs you, Uncle Liu, to preside at the various ceremonies and conduct the inspections.”
“Really I am unfit for such responsibilities,” said Yüan-tê, “But my brother’s command must be obeyed.”
Next day it was reported that the officials from the forty-one departments of the nine districts had all arrived.
Then Ts‘ai Mao said to K‘uai Yüeh, “This Liu P‘ei is the villain of the age and if left alive will certainly work harm to us. He must be got rid of now.”
“I fear you would forfeit everybody’s favour if you harmed him,” replied K‘uai.
“I have already secretly spoken in these terms to Prefect Liu,” said Ts‘ai, “and I have his word here.”
“So it may be regarded as settled; then we can prepare.”
Ts‘ai Mao said, “One of my brothers is posted on the road to the Hsien Hills from the east gate and the others are on the north and south roads. No guard is needed on the west as the T‘an Torrent is quite safeguard enough. Even with legions he could not get over that.”
K‘uai replied, “I notice that Chao Yün never leaves him. I feel sure he expects some attack.”
“I have placed five hundred men in ambush in the city.”
“We will tell Wên P‘ing and Wang Wei to invite all the military officers to a banquet at one of the pavilions outside the city, and Chao Yün will be among them. Then will be our opportunity.”
Ts‘ai Mao thought this a good device for getting Chao Yün out of the way.
Now oxen and horses had been slaughtered and a grand banquet prepared. Yüan-tê rode to the residence on the horse of ill omen and when he arrived the steed was led into the back part of the enclosure and tethered there. Soon the guests arrived and Yüan-tê took his place as master of the feast, with the two sons of the Prefect, one on each side. The guests were all arranged in order of rank. Chao Yün stood near his lord sword in hand as a faithful henchman should do.
Then Wên and Wang came to invite Chao Yün to the banquet they had prepared for the military officers. But he declined. However, Yüan-tê told him to go, and, after some demur, he went. Then Ts‘ai Mao perfected his final arrangements, placing his men surrounding the place like a ring of iron. The three hundred guards that formed the escort of Yüan-tê were sent away to the guest-house.
All were ready and awaiting the signal. At the third course, I Chi took a goblet of wine in his hands and approached Yüan-tê, at the same time giving him a meaning look. Then in a low voice he said, “Make an excuse to get away.”
Yüan-tê understood and presently rose as if stiff with long sitting and went outside. There he found I Chi, who had gone thither after presenting the cup of wine. I Chi then told him more of the plot and that all the roads were guarded except that to the west. And he advised him to lose no time.
Yüan-tê was quite taken aback. However, he got hold of the horse of ill omen, opened the door of the garden and led him out. Then he took a flying leap into the saddle and galloped off without waiting for the escort. He made for the west gate. At the gate the wardens wanted to question him, but he only whipped up his steed and rode through. The guards at the gate ran off to report to Ts‘ai Mao, who quickly went in pursuit with a half company of soldiers.
As has been said Yüan-tê burst out at the west gate. Before he had gone far there rolled before him a great river barring the way. It was the T‘an, many score feet in width, which pours its waters into the Hsiang. Its current was very swift.
Yüan-tê reached the bank and saw the river was unfordable. So he turned his horse and rode back. Then, not far off, he saw a cloud of dust and knew that his pursuers were therein. He thought that it was all over. However, he turned again toward the swift river, and seeing the soldiers now quite near, plunged into the stream. A few paces, and he felt the horse’s fore legs floundering in front while the water rose over the skirt of his rove. Then he plied the whip furiously, crying, “Tilu, Tilu, I trust to you.”
Whereupon the good steed suddenly reared up out of the water and, with one tremendous leap, was on the western bank. Yüan-tê felt as if he had come out of the clouds.
In after years the famous court official, Su T‘ung-p‘o, wrote a poem on this leap over the T‘an Torrent:—
I’m growing old, the leaves are sere,
My sun slopes westward, soon will sink,
And I recall that yester year
I wandered by T‘an River brink.
Irresolute, anon I paused,
Anon advanced, and gazed around,
I marked the autumn’s reddened leaves,
And watched them eddying to the ground
I thought of all the mighty deeds
Of him who set the House of Han
On high, and all the struggles since,
The battlefields, the blood that ran.
I saw the nobles gathered round
The board, set in the Banquet Hall;
Amid them, one, above whose head
There hung a sword about to fall.
I saw him quit that festive throng
And westward ride, a lonely way;
I saw a squadron follow swift,
Intent the fugitive to slay.
I saw him reach the River T‘an,
Whose swirling current rushes by;
Adown the bank he galloped fast,
“Now leap, my steed!” I heard him cry.
His steed’s hoofs churn the swollen stream;
What recks he that the waves run high?
He hears the sound of clashing steel,
Of thundering squadrons coming nigh.
And upward from the foaming waves
I saw two peerless beings soar:
One was a destined western king,
And him another dragon bore.
The T‘an still rolls from east to west,
Its roaring torrent ne’er dry.
Those dragons twain, Ah! where are they?
Yes, where? But there is no reply.
The setting sun, in dark relief
Against the glowing western sky,
Throws out the everlasting hills
While, saddened, here I stand and sigh.
Men died to found the kingdoms three,
Which now as misty dreams remain.
Of greatest deeds the traces oft
Are faint that fleeting years retain.
Thus Liu P‘ei crossed the rolling river. Then he turned and looked back at the other bank which his pursuers had just gained.
“Why did you run away from the feast?” called out Ts‘ai Mao.
“Why did you wish to harm one who has done you no injury?” replied Yüan-tê.
“I have never thought of such a thing; do not listen to what people say to you.”
But Yüan-tê saw that his enemy was fitting an arrow to his bowstring, so he whipped up his steed and rode away southwest.
“What spirits aided him?” said Ts‘ai Mao to his followers.
Then he turned to go back to the city, but in the gate he saw Chao Yün coming out at the head of his company of guards.
By wondrous leap the dragon steed his rider’s life could save,
Now follows him, on vengeance bent, his master’s henchman brave.
The next chapters will tell what fate befell the traitor.