San Kuo/Volume 1/Chapter 4
CHAPTER IV.
The Deposition of the Emperor: Prince of Ch‘en-liu Becomes Emperor:
Schemes Against Tung Cho: Meng-te Presents a Sword.
It is recorded that Tung Cho was on the point of slaying Yüan Shao, but his adviser checked him, saying, “You must not kill rashly while the business hangs in the balance.”
Yüan Shao, his sword still unsheathed, left the assembly. He hung up the symbols of his office at the east gate and went to Ichow.
Tung Cho said to the T‘ai-fu Yüan Wei, “Your nephew behaved improperly but I pardon him for your sake; what think you of my scheme?”
“What you think is right,” was the reply.
“If any one opposes the great scheme he will be dealt with by military law,” said Tung Cho.
The ministers, thoroughly cowed, promised obedience and the feast came to an end. Tung asked Chou Pi and Wu Chiung what they thought of the flight of Yüan Shao.
“He left in a state of great anger. In such a state of excitement much harm may ensue to the present state of affairs, especially as the Yüan family have been noted for their kindness to the people for four generations, and their protégés and dependents are everywhere. If they assemble bold spirits and call up their clients, all the valiant warriors will be in arms and Shantung will be lost. You had better pardon him and give him a post. He will be glad at being forgiven and will do no harm.”
Wu said, “Shao is fond of scheming, but he fails in decision and so is not to be feared. But it would be well to give him rank and thus win popular favour.”
Tung Cho followed this advice and thereupon sent a messenger to offer Yüan Shao the command of Pohai.
In the ninth month the Emperor was invited to proceed to the Hall of Abounding Virtue where was a great assembly of officials. There Tung Cho, sword in hand, faced the gathering and said, “The Emperor is a weakling unequal to the burden of ruling this land. Now listen ye to the document I have prepared.”
And Li Ju read as follows:—“The dutiful Emperor Ling too soon left his people. The Emperor is the cynosure of all the people of this land. Upon the present Emperor Heaven has conferred but small gifts: in dignity and deportment he is deficient and in mourning he is remiss. Only the most complete virtue can grace the imperial dignity. The Empress Mother has trained him improperly and the whole State administration has fallen into confusion. The Empress Dowager, Jung-lê, died suddenly and no one knew why. The doctrine of the three bonds and the continuity of celestial and terrestrial interdependence have both been injured. But Hsieh, Prince of Ch‘ên-liu, is sage and virtuous beside being of handsome exterior. He conforms to all the rules of propriety, his mourning is sincere; his speech is always correct. Eulogies of him fill the Empire. He is well fitted for the great duty of consolidating the rule of Han.
“Now therefore the Emperor is deposed and created Prince Hung-nung and the Empress Dowager retires from the administration.
“I pray the Prince to accept the throne in conformity with the decrees of Heaven, the desires of men and the fulfilment of the hopes of mankind.”
This having been read Tung Cho bade the attendants lead the Emperor down from the throne, remove his seal and cause him to kneel facing the north, styling himself minister and requesting commands. Moreover he bade the Empress-Dowager strip off her dress of ceremony and await the imperial command. Both victims of this oppression wept and every minister present was deeply affected. One put his discontent into words, crying, “The false Tung Cho is the author of this insult, which I will risk my life to wipe away.” And with this he rushed at Tung Cho threatening him his ivory bâton of office.
It was the President Ting Kuan and he was removed and summarily put to death. While he lived he ceased not to rail at the oppressor, nor was he frightened at death.
The rebel Tung conceived the foul design
To thrust the King aside and wrong his line.
With folded arms the courtiers stood, save one
Ting Kuan, who dared to cry that wrong was done.
Then the Emperor designate went to the upper part of the hall to receive congratulations. After this the late Emperor, his mother and the Lady in waiting T‘ang were removed to the Palace of Perpetual Calm. The entrance gates were locked against all comers.
It was pitiful! There was the young Emperor, after reigning less than half a year, deposed and another put in his place. The new Emperor was Hsieh, the second son of the late Emperor and the name under which he reigned is Hsien. He was nine years of age and the reign-style was changed to Ch‘u-P‘ing or The Inauguration of Tranquillity.
As chief minister Tung Cho was arrogant beyond all reason. When he bowed before the throne he did not declare his name; in going to court he did not hasten. Booted and armed he entered the reception halls. Never had such a thing been seen before. Li Ju impressed upon him constantly to employ men of reputation so that he should gain public esteem. So when they told him Ch‘ai Yung was a man of talent he was summoned. But he would not go. Cho sent a message to him that if he did not come he and his whole clan should be exterminated. Then Ch‘ai gave in and appeared. Cho was very gracious to him and promoted him thrice in a month. He became a Shih-chung and seemed to be on most friendly terms with the tyrant.
Meanwhile the deposed ruler, his mother and the Lady T‘ang were immured in the palace and found their daily supplies gradually diminishing. The deposed Emperor wept incessantly. One day a pair of swallows gliding to and fro moved him to verse.
Spring! and the green of the tender grass,
Flushes with joy as the swallows pass;
The wayfarers pause by the rippling stream,
And their eyes with new born gladness gleam;
With lingering gaze the roofs I see
Of the palace that one time sheltered me.
The messenger, sent by Tung Cho from time to time to the palace for news of the prisoners, got hold of this poem and showed it to his master.
“So he shows his resentment by writing poems, eh! A fair excuse to put them all out of the way,” said Tung.
Li Ju was sent with ten men into the palace to consummate the foul deed. The three were in one of the upper rooms when he arrived. The Emperor shuddered when the maid announced the visitor’s name.
Presently Li entered and offered a cup of poisoned wine to the Emperor. The Emperor asked what this meant.
“Spring is the season of blending and harmonious interchange and the Minister sends a cup of the wine of longevity,” said he.
“If it be the wine of longevity you may share it too; pledge me first,” said the Empress.
Then Li became brutally frank.
“You will not drink!” cried he.
He called the men with daggers and cords and bade her look at them.
“The cup, or these?” said he.
Then said the Lady T‘ang, “Let the handmaiden drink in place of her lord. Spare the mother and her son, I pray.”
“And who may you be to die for a prince?” said Li.
Then he presented the cup to the Empress once more and bade her drink.
She railed against her brother, the feckless Ho Chin, the author of all this trouble. She would not drink.
Next Li approached the Emperor.
“Let me say farewell to my mother” begged he, and he did so in these lines:—
The heaven and earth are changed alas! the sun and the moon leave their courses,
I, once the centre of all eyes, am driven to the farthest confines.
Oppressed by an arrogant minister my life nears its end,
Everything fails me and vain are my falling tears.
The Lady T‘ang sang:—
Heaven is to be rent asunder, Mother Earth to fall away;
I, handmaid of an Emperor, would grieve if I followed him not.
We have come to the parting of ways, the quick and the dead walk not together;
Alas! I am left alone with the grief in my heart.
When they had sung these lines they fell weeping into each others’ arms.
“The minister is awaiting my report,” said, Li, “and you delay too long. Think you that there is any hope of succour?”
The Empress broke into another fit of railing.
“The rebel forces us to death, mother and son, and Heaven has abandoned us. But you, the tool of his crime, will assuredly perish.”
Thereupon Li grew more angry, laid hands on the Empress and threw her out of the window. Then he bade the soldiers strangle Lady T‘ang and forced the lad to swallow the wine of death.
He reported the achievement of the cruel deed to his master who bade them bury the victims without the city. After this Tung’s behaviour was more atrocious than before. He spent his nights in the palace, defiled the virgins there and even slept on the imperial couch.
Once he led his soldiers out of the city to Yangch‘êng when the villagers, men and women, were assembled from all sides for the annual festival. His men surrounded the place and plundered it. They took away booty by the cart load, and women prisoners and a large number of heads. The procession returned to the city and published a story that they had obtained a great victory over some rebels. They burned the heads beneath the walls and the women and jewellery were shared out among the soldiers.
An officer named Wu Fou was disgusted at this ferocity and sought a chance to slay the tyrant. He constantly wore a breastplate underneath his court dress and carried concealed a sharp dagger. One day when Tung came to court Fou met him on the steps and tried to stab him. But Cho was a very powerful man and held him off till Lü Pu came to his help. He struck down the assailant.
“Who told you to rebel?” said Tung.
Fou glared at him and cried, “You are not my prince, I am not your minister: where is the rebellion? Your crimes fill the heavens and every man would slay you. I am sorry I cannot tear you asunder with chariots to appease the wrath of the world.”
Tung Cho bade them take him out and hack him to pieces. He only ceased railing as he ceased to live.
Men praise Wu Fou, that loyai servant of the latter days of Han.
His valour was hign as the Heavens, in all ages unequalled;
In the court itself would he slay the rebel, great is his fame!
Throughout all time will men call him a hero.
Thereafter Tung Cho always went well guarded.
At Pohai Yüan Shao heard of Tung Cho’s misuse of power and sent a secret letter to Wang Yü.
“That rebel Cho outrages Heaven and has deposed his ruler. Men cannot bear to speak of him. Yet you suffer his aggressions as if you knew naught of them. How then are you a dutiful and loyal minister? I have assembled an army and desire to sweep clean the royal habitation, but I dare not lightly begin the task. If you are willing, then find an opportunity to plot against this man. If you would use force I am at your command.”
The letter arrived but Wang Yün could see no chance. One day while among the throng in attendance, mostly men of long service, he said to his colleagues, “This is my birthday, I pray you come to a little party in my humble cot this evening.”
“We certainly will,” they cried, “and wish you long life.”
That night the tables were spread in an inner room and his friends gathered there. When the wine had made a few rounds the host suddenly covered his face and began to weep.
The guests were aghast.
“Sir, on your birthday too, why do you weep?” said they.
“It is not my birthday,” replied he. “But I wished to call you together and I feared lest Tung Cho should suspect, so I made that the excuse. This man insults the Emperor and does as he wishes so that the imperial prerogatives are in imminent peril. I think of the days when our illustrious founder destroyed Ts‘in, annihilated Ch‘u and obtained the Empire. Who could have foreseen this day when that Tung Cho has subjugated all to his will? That is why I weep.”
Then they all wept with him.
Seated among the guests, however, was Ts‘ao Ts‘ao, who did not join in the weeping but clapped his hands and laughed aloud.
“If all the officers of the government weep till dawn, and from dawn weep till dark, will that slay Tung Cho?” said he.
His host turned on him angrily.
“Your forbears ate of the bounty of the Hans; do you feel no gratitude? You can laugh?”
“I laughed at the absurdity of an assembly like this being unable to compass the death of one man. Foolish and incapable as I am I will cut off his head and hang it at the gate as an offering to the people.”
The host left his seat and went over to Tsʻao Ts‘ao.
“These later days,” Ts‘ao continued, “I have bowed my head to Tung Cho with the sole desire of finding a chance to destroy him. Now he begins to trust me and so I can approach him sometimes. You have a ‘seven precious’ sword which I would borrow and I will go into his palace and kill him. I care not if I die for it.”
“What good fortune for the world that this is so!” said the host.
With this he himself poured out a goblet for his guest who drained it and swore an oath. After this the sword was brought out and given to Ts‘ao Ts‘ao who hid it under his dress. He finished his wine, took leave of the guests and left the hall. Before long the others dispersed.
Soon after Tsʻao Ts‘ao, with this short sword girded on, came to the palace of the minister.
“Where is the minister?” asked he.
“In the small guest room,” replied the attendants.
So Ts‘ao Ts‘ao went in and found his host seated on a couch, Lü Pu was at his side.
“Why so late, Meng-tê?” said Tung Cho.
“My horse is out of condition and slow,” replied Ts‘ao.
Cho turned to his henchman.
“Some good horses have come in from the west. You go and pick out a good one as a present for him.” And Lü Pu left.
“He is doomed,” thought Ts‘ao Ts‘ao. He ought to have struck then, but Ts‘ao knew Cho was very powerful and he was afraid; he wanted to make sure of his blow.
Now Tung Cho’s corpulence was such that he could not remain long sitting, so he rolled over and lay face inwards. “Now is the time,” thought the assassin, and he gripped the good sword firmly. But just as he was going to strike, his victim happened to look up and in a mirror he saw the reflection of Ts‘ao Ts‘ao behind him with a sword in his hand.
“What are you doing, Meng-tê?” said he turning suddenly. And at that moment Lü Pu came along leading a horse.
Ts‘ao Tsʻao in a flurry dropped on his knees and said, “I have a choice sword here which I wish to present to Your Benevolence.”
Tung Cho took it. It was a fine blade, over a foot in length, inlaid with the seven precious signs and very keen; a fine sword in very truth. He handed the weapon to Lü Pu while Ts‘ao Ts‘ao took off the sheath which he also gave to Lü Pu.
Then they went out to look at the horse. Ts‘ao Ts‘ao was profuse in his thanks and said he would like to try him. So Cho bade them bring saddle and bridle. Ts‘ao led the creature outside, lept into the saddle, laid on his whip vigorously and galloped away eastward.
Lü Pu said, “Just as I was coming up it seemed to me as if that fellow was going to stab you, only a sudden panic seized him and he presented the weapon instead.”
“I suspected him too,” said Cho. Just then Li Ju came in and they told him.
“He has no family here but lodges quite alone and not far away,” said he. “Send for him. If he comes forthwith the sword was meant as a gift, but if he makes any excuses he had bad intentions. And you can arrest him.”
They sent four prison warders to call Ts‘ao Ts‘ao. They were absent a long time and then came back saying Ts‘ao Ts‘ao had not returned to his lodging but had ridden in hot haste out of the eastern gate. To the gate-warden’s questions he had replied that he was on a special message for the minister. He had gone off at full speed.
“His conscience pricked him and so he fled; there is no doubt that he meant assassination,” said Li Ju.
“And I trusted him so well!” said Tung Cho in a rage.
"There must be a conspiracy afoot: when we catch him we shall know all about it,” said Li Ju.
Letters and pictures of the fugitive were sent everywhere with orders to catch him. A large reward in money was offered and a patent of nobility, while those who sheltered him would be held to share his guilt.
Ts‘ao Ts‘ao travelled in hot haste toward Ch‘iaochün. On the road at Chungmou he was recognised by the guards at the gate and made prisoner. They took him to the magistrate. Ts‘ao declared he was a merchant, named Huangfu. The magistrate scanned his face most closely and remained in deep thought.
Presently he said, “When I was at the capital seeking a post I knew you as Ts‘ao Ts‘ao, why do you try to conceal your identity?”
He ordered him to the prison till the morrow when he could be sent to the capital and the reward claimed. He gave the soldiers wine and food as a reward.
About midnight he sent a trusty servant to bring the prisoner into his private rooms for interrogation.
“They say the Minister treated you well; why did you try to harm him?” said he.
“How can swallows and sparrows understand the flight of the crane and the wild goose? I am your prisoner and am to be sent to the capital for a reward. Why so many questions?”
The official sent away the attendants and turning to the prisoner said, “Do not despise me. I am no mere hireling, only I have not yet found the lord to serve.”
Said Ts‘ao Ts‘ao, “My ancestors enjoyed the bounty of the Hans and should I differ from a bird or a beast if I did not desire to repay them with gratitude? I have bowed the knee to Tung Cho that thereby I might find an opportunity against him, and so remove this evil from the State. I have failed for this time. Such is the will of heaven.”
“And where are you going?”
“Home to my village. Thence I shall issue a summons calling all the bold spirits to come with forces to kill the tyrant. This is my desire.”
Thereupon the magistrate himself loosened the bonds of the prisoner, led him to the upper seat and bowed saying, “I am called Ch‘ên Kung. My aged mother and family are in the east. I am deeply affected by your loyalty and uprightness and I will abandon my office and follow you.”
Ts‘ao Ts‘ao was delighted with this turn of affairs. The magistrate at once collected some money for the expenses of their journey and gave his prisoner a different dress. Then each took a sword and rode away toward the home of Ts‘ao. Three days later at eventide they reached Ch‘êngkao. Ts‘ao Ts‘ao pointed with his whip to a hamlet deep in the woods and said, “There lives my uncle, Lü Po-shê, a sworn-brother of my father. Suppose we go and ask news of my family and seek shelter for the night?”
“Excellent!” said his companion and they rode over, dismounted at the farm gate and entered.
Their host said, “I hear the government has sent stringent orders on all sides to arrest you. Your father has gone into hiding to Ch‘ên Lu. How has this all come about?”
Ts‘ao Ts‘ao told him and said, “Had it not been for this man here with me I should have been already hacked to pieces.”
Po-shê bowed low to Ch‘ên Kung saying, “You are the salvation of the Ts‘ao family. But be at ease and rest, I will find you a bed in my humble cottage.”
He then rose and went into the inner chamber where he stayed a long time. When he came out, he said, “There is no good wine in the house, I am going over to the village to get some for you.”
And he hastily mounted his donkey and rode away. The two travellers sat a long time. Suddenly they heard at the back of the house the sound of sharpening a knife.
Ts‘ao Ts‘ao said, “He is not my real uncle; I am beginning to doubt the meaning of his going off. Let us listen.”
So they silently stepped out into a straw hut at the back. Presently some one said, “Bind before killing, eh?”
“As I thought;” said Ts‘ao Ts‘ao, “now unless we strike first we shall be taken.”
Suddenly they dashed in, sword in hand, and slew the whole household male and female; in all eight persons.
After this they searched the house. In the kitchen they found a pig bound ready to kill.
“You have made a huge mistake,” said Ch‘ên Kung, “and we have slain honest folk.”
They at once mounted and rode away. Soon they met their host coming home and over the saddle in front of him they saw two vessels of wine. In his hands he carried fruit and vegetables.
“Why are you going, Sirs?” he called to them.
“Accused people dare not linger,” said Ts‘ao.
“But I have bidden them kill a pig! Why do you refuse my poor hospitality? I pray you ride back with me.”
Ts‘ao Ts‘ao paid no heed. Urging his horse forward he suddenly drew his sword and rode after Lu.
“Who is that coming along?”
Lu turned and looked back and Ts‘ao at the same instant cut him down.
His companion was frightened.
“You were wrong enough before,” cried he. “What now is this?”
“When he got home and saw his family killed, think you he would bear it patiently? If he had raised an alarm and followed us we should have been killed.”
“To kill deliberately is very wrong,” said Ch‘ên Kung.
“I would rather betray the world then let the world betray me,” was the reply.
Ch‘ên Kung only thought. They rode on some distance by moonlight and presently knocked up an inn for shelter. Having first fed their horses, Tsʻao Ts‘ao was soon asleep, but his companion lay thinking.
“I took him for a true man and left all to follow him, but he is cruel as a wolf. If I spare him he will do more harm,” thought Ch‘ên.
And he rose intending to kill his companion.
In his heart lie cruelty and venom, he is no true man;
In nought doth he differ from his enemy Tung Cho.
The further fortunes of Ts‘ao Ts‘ao will be told in later chapters.