# San Kuo/Volume 2/Chapter 117

CHAPTER CXVII.
Têng Gets Through Yinpʻing Pass; Chuko Dies at Mienchu.
The soldiers, whose coming had at first alarmed Chiang Wei, were, however, from his own country, part of a force brought to the frontier by Tung Chüeh when he heard of the invasion from Wei. Two legions had been sent to Chienko, and when the dust showed an approaching army he thought it wise to go to the Pass lest the coming men should be enemies to be stopped.
When Tung found that the newcomers were friends, he let them pass through and gave them the news from the capital, bad news of the deeds of both the king and the eunuchfavourite.
“But do not grieve,” said Chiang Wei, “so long as I live I will not allow Wei to come and conquer Shu.”
They kept good guard at Chienko while they discussed future plans.
“Though we are holding this pass, yet Ch'êngtu is well-nigh empty of soldiers,” said Tung Chüeh. “If it was attacked it would go crack!”
Chiang Wei replied, “The natural defences are excellent; it is hard to cross over the mountains and climb the steep roads. No one need fear.”
Soon after this, Chuko Hsü appeared at the pass challenging the defenders. Chiang Wei forthwith placed himself at the head of a half legion and went down to meet him. He gained an easy victory, slaying many of the enemy and taking much spoil in horses and weapons.
While Chiang went back to the pass, the defeated general made his way to Chung Hui’s camp to confess his failure. His general was very angry.
“My orders to you were to hold Yinp‘ing Bridge so as to stop Chiang Wei, and you lost it. Now without any orders you attack and are defeated.”
“Chiang Wei played so many deceitful tricks. He pretended to be going to take Yungchou, and I thought that was very important, so I sent troops to rescue it. Then he meanly got away. I followed to the pass, but never thought he would come out and defeat my men.”
​Chuko pleaded thus, but he was sentenced to die. Now Chuko was really a subordinate of Têng Ai and, admitting that he was in fault, his punishment should not have been pronounced by Chung Hui. But when Wei Kuan mentioned that as a reason for reprieve, Chung Hui swaggeringly replied, “I have a command from the Emperor and orders from the Prime Minister to attack Shu; if Têng Ai himself offended I would behead him.”
However, in spite of these big words, he did not put Chuko to death, but sent him a prisoner to the capital to be judged. The surviving men were added to Chung Hui’s army.
This insolent speeech of Chung Hui was duly repeated to Têng Ai, who was angry in his turn and said, “His rank and mine are the same. I have held a frontier post for years and sustained many fatigues in the country’s service. Who is he that he gives himself such airs?”
His son Chung endeavoured to appease his wrath. “Father, if you cannot suffer small things you may upset the grand policy of the state. Unfriendliness with him may do great harm, so I hope you will bear with him.”
Têng Ai saw he was right, and said no more; but he nourished anger in his heart. With a small escort he went to call upon his colleague. When his coming was announced, Chung Hui asked his staff how many men were following Têng Ai.
“He has only half a score of horsemen,” they replied.
Chung Hui had a large body of men drawn up about his tent, and then gave orders that his visitor should be led in. Têng Ai dismounted, and the two men saluted each other. But the visitor did not like the look on the faces of his host’s guard. He decided to find out what Chung Hui was thinking.
“The capture of Hanchung is a piece of excellent fortune for the state,” said he. “The capture of Chienko can now be accomplished easily.”
“What is your own idea, General?” asked Chung Hui.
Têng Ai tried to evade answering the question, but could not. Chung Hui pressed him to reply. Finally he said, “In my simple opinion one might proceed by by-roads from the pass through Hanchung to Yangt‘ing, and thence make a surprise march. Chiang Wei must go to its defence, and you, General, can take Chienko.”
“A very good plan,” said Chung Hui. “You may start forthwith, and I will wait here till I hear news of your success.
They drank, and Têng took his leave. Chung Hui went back to his own tent filled with contempt for Têng’s plan, which he thought impracticable.
“They say Têng Ai is able; I think he is of most ordinary capacity,” said he to his officers.
“But why?” said they.
​“Because the by-roads by Yinp‘ing are impassable, nothing but lofty mountains and steep hills. A hundred defenders at a critical point could cut all communications, and Têng Ai’s men would starve to death. I shall go by the direct road, and there is no fear about the result. I shall overcome Shu.”
So he prepared scaling ladders and ballistæ and set himself to besiege Chienko.
Têng Ai went out to the main gate of the court. While mounting, he said to his followers, “What did Chung Hui think of me?”
“He looked as though he held a poor opinion of what you had said, General, and disagreed with you, although his words were fair enough.”
“He thinks I cannot take Ch'êngtu; and so I will take it.”
He was received at his own camp by Shih Tsuan and his son, and a party of others of his captains, and they asked what the conversation had been about.
“I told him simple truth, but he thinks I am just a common person of no ability to speak of. He regards the capture of Hanchung as an incomparable feat of arms. Where would he have been if I had not held up Chiang Wei? But I think the capture of Ch'êngtu will beat that of Hanchung.”
That night camp was broken up, and they set out upon a march of seven hundred li along the hill paths. At that distance from Chienko they were to make a permanent camp. Chung Hui laughed at the attempt.
From his camp Têng Ai sent a secret letter to Ssŭma Chao. Then he called his officers to his tent and asked them, saying, “I am going to make a dash for Ch'êngtu while it is still undefended, and success will mean unfading glory for us all. Will you follow me?”
“We will follow you and obey your orders,” cried they all.
So the final dispositions were made. Têng Chung went first to improve the road. His men wore no armour, but they had axes and boring tools. They were to level roads and build bridges.
Next went three legions furnished with dry grain and ropes. At every three hundred li they were to make a post of three companies.
In the autumn they left Yinpʻing, and in the tenth month they were in most precipitous country. They had taken twenty-seven days to travel seven hundred li. They were in an uninhabited country. After garrisoning the various posts on the way, they had only two companies left. Before them stood a range named Mot‘ien Ling, which no horse could ascend. Têng Ai climbed up on foot to see his son and the men with him opening up a road. They were exhausted with fatigue and weeping.
​Têng Ai asked why they were so sad, and his son replied, “We have found an impassable precipice away to the northwest which we cannot get through. All our labour has been in vain.”
Têng Ai said, “We have got over seven hundred li and just beyond is Chiangyu: we cannot go back. How can one get tiger cubs except by going into tiger caves? Here we are, and it will be a very great feat to capture Ch'êngtu.”
They all said they would go on. So they came to the precipice. First they threw over their weapons; then the leader wrapped himself in blankets and rolled over the edge, next the captains followed him, also wrapped in blankets. Those who had not blankets were let down by cords round the waist and others clinging to trees followed one after another till all had descended and the Motien Ling was passed. Then they retook their armour and weapons and went on their way.
They came across a stone by the roadside. It bore a mysterious inscription composed by Chuko Liang. Translated literally it read:—
“Two fires first set out, Men pass by here, Two soldiers compete Both soon die."
Têng Ai was perplexed. Presently he bowed before the stone and prayed to the spirit of Chuko Liang.
“O Marquis, immortal. I grieve that I am not thy worthy disciple.”
The rugged lofty mountain peaks Of Yinp‘ing, pierce the sky, The sombre crane with wearied wing Can scarcely o‘er them fly. Intrepid Têng in blankets wrapped Rolled down the craggy steep, His feat great Chuko prophesied By insight wondrous deep.
Note.—The interpretation of the inscription is as follows:—
“Two fires” form the ideograph yen; “set out” is hsing; “first,” refers to the year. Thus the first line gives the date, “Yen-Hsing, first year.” The two men were Têng Ai and Chung Hui, rivals for glory.
Having crossed this great range of mountains without discovery, Têng Ai marched forward. Presently he came to a roomy camp, empty and deserted. He was told that while Chuko Liang lived two companies had been kept in garrison at this point of danger, but King Ch‘an had withdrawn them. Têng Ai sighed at the thought.
He said to his men, “Now retreat is impossible, there is no road back. Before you lies Chiangyu with stores in abundance. Advance and you live, retreat and you die. You must fight with all your strength.”
“We will fight to the death,” they cried.
​The leader was now afoot, doing double marches with his two companies toward Chiangyu.
The commander at Chiangyu was Ma Yao. He heard the east had fallen into the hands of the enemy. Though something prepared for defence, yet his post had a wide area to cover and guard, and he trusted Chiang Wei would defend Chienko. So he did not take his military duties very seriously, just maintaining the daily drills and then going home to his wife to cuddle up to the stove and drink.
His wife was of the Li family. When she heard of the state of things on the frontier she said to her husband, “If there is so great danger on the borders, how is it you are so unaffected?”
“The affair is in Chiang Wei’s hands and is not my concern,' replied he.
“Nevertheless, the general finally has to guard the capital, and that is a heavy responsibility.”
“O, well! The king trusts his favourite entirely and is sunk in vice and pleasure. Disaster is very near, and if the Wei armies get here I shall yield. It is no good taking it seriously.”
“You call yourself a man! Have you such a disloyal and treacherous heart? Is it nothing to have held office and taken pay for years? How can I bear to look upon your face?”
Ma Yao was too ashamed to attempt to reply. Just then his house servants came to tell him that Têng Ai, with his two companies, had found their way along some road and had already broken into the city.
Ma was now frightened and hastily went out to find the leader and offer his formal submission. He went to the Town Hall and bowed on the steps, crying, “I have long desired to come over to Wei. Now I yield myself and my army and all the town.”
Têng Ai accepted his surrender and incorporated his men with his own force. He took Ma into his service as guide.
In the meantime Ma’s wife had hanged herself, overcome with shame and mortification. Ma told Têng Ai why she had done it, and Têng, admiring her rectitude, gave orders for an honourable burial. He also went in person to sacrifice. Everyone extolled her conduct.
When the King of Shu had wandered from the way, And the House of Han fell lower. The Lord sent Têng Ai to smite the land. Then did a woman show herself most noble, So noble in conduct, That no leader equalled her.
As soon as Chiangyu was taken, the posts along the road by which the army had come were withdrawn, and there was a general rendezvous at this point. This done, they marched toward Fouch'êng.
​T‘ien Hsü, a captain, remonstrated, saying, “We have just finished a long and perilous march and are weary and worn out. We ought to repose for a few days to recover.”
Têng Ai angrily replied, “Speed is the one important matter in war: do not encourage any discontent. I will not have it.”
He was sentenced to death, but as many officers interceded for him he was pardoned.
The army pressed on toward Fouch'êng. As soon as they arrived, the officers yielded as if they thought Têng Ai had fallen from the heavens. Some took the news to the capital, and the king began to feel alarmed. He hastily called for his favourite, who at once denied the report.
“The spirits would not deceive Your Majesty,” said Huang Hao.
The king summoned the wise woman to the palace, but the messengers said she had gone no one knew whither. And now urgent memorials and letters fell in from every side like a snow storm, and messengers went to and fro in constant streams. The king called a Court to discuss the danger, but no one had any plan or suggestion to offer. The courtiers just looked blankly into each other’s faces.
Finally Ch‘i Chêng spoke out, “In this extremity Your Majesty should call in the help of the son of Marquis Wu.”
This son of Chuko Liang, known as the Marquis of Wu after his father’s death, was named Chan. His mother was born of the Huang family. She was singularly plain and extraordinarily talented. She had studied everything, even books of strategy and magic. Chuko had married her because of her goodness, and she had shared his studies. She had survived her husband but a short time, and her last words to her son had been to be loyal.
Chan had been known as a clever lad and had married a daughter of the king, so that he was a “Fu-ma.” His father’s rank had descended to him, and he had received general’s rank in the guards as well. But he had retired when Huang Hao, the eunuch, as first favourite, began to direct state affairs.
As suggested, the king summoned Chuko Chan to court, told him the troubles that threatened the country and asked for some plan to save his throne.
“My father and I owe too much to the late Emperor’s kindness for me to think any sacrifice too great to make for Your Majesty. I pray that you give me command of the troops in the capital, and I will fight a decisive battle.”
So the soldiers, seven legions, were placed under his command. When he had gathered all together, he called the officers and asked for a volunteer for the vanguard. His son, Shang, then nineteen, offered himself. He had studied military books and made himself an adept in the various exercises.
​So he was appointed, and the army marched to find the enemy. In the meantime the traitor, Ma Yao, had given Têng Ai very complete plans of the country showing the whole one hundred and sixty li of road he had to traverse. However, Têng was dismayed when he saw the difficulties ahead of him.
“If they defend the hills in front I shall fail, for if I am delayed Chiang Wei will come up, and my army will be in great danger.”
“The army must press on.” He called his son and Shih Tsuan and said, “Lead one army straight to Mienchu to keep back any Shu soldiers sent to stop our march. I will follow as soon as I can. But hasten; for if you let the enemy forestall you I will put you to death.”
They went. Nearing Mienchu they met the army under Chuko Chan. Both sides prepared for battle, the Shu armies adopted the pa-kua, or “Eight Diagrams” formation and presently, after the usual triple roll of drums, Shih and Têng saw their opponents' ranks open in the centre, and therefrom emerge a light carriage in which sat a figure looking exactly as K‘ung-ming used to look when he appeared on the battlefield. Everybody knew the Taoist robes and the feather fan. The standard bore his name and titles too.
The sight was too much for the two leaders. The cold sweat of terror poured down them, and they stammered out, “If K‘ung-ming is still alive, that is the end of us.”
They retreated. The men of Shu came on, and the army of Wei was driven away in defeat and chased a distance of twenty li. Then the pursuers sighted Têng Ai and they turned and retired.
When Têng Ai had camped, he called the two leaders before him and reproached them for retreating without fighting.
“We saw K‘ung-ming leading the enemy,” said Têng Chung, “so we ran away.”
“Why should we fear, even if they bring K‘ung-ming to life again? You ran away without cause, and we have lost. You ought both to be put to death.”
However, they did not die. Their fellows pleaded for them, and Têng’s wrath was mollified. Then the scouts came in to say that the leader of the army was a son of K‘ung-ming, and they had set up on the carriage an image of the great strategist.
Têng Ai, however, said to the two, “This is the critical stage, and if you lose the next battle you will certainly lose your lives with it.”
At the head of one legion they went out to battle once more. This time they met the vanguard led by Chuko Shang, who rode out alone, boldly offering to repulse the invaders. At Chuko Chan’s signal the two wings advanced and threw themselves against the line of Wei. The centre portion of the ​line met them and the battle went to and fro many times, till at length the men of Wei, after great losses, had to give way. Both the leaders being badly wounded, they fled and the army of Shu pursued and drove the invaders into their camp.
Shih and Têng had to acknowledge a new defeat, but when Têng Ai saw both were sorely wounded he forbore to blame them or decree any penalty.
To his officers he said, “This Chuko Chan well continues the paternal tradition. Twice they have beaten us and slain great numbers. We must defeat them, and that quickly, or we are lost.”
Then Ch‘iu Pên said, “Why not persuade their leader with a letter?”
Têng Ai agreed and wrote a letter, which he sent by the hand of a messenger. The warden of the camp gate led the messenger in to see Chuko Chan, who opened the letter and read:—“General Têng, 'Conqueror of the West,' writes to General Chuko of the Guard, leader of the army in the field.
“Now having carefully observed your talent in attack, I see you are not equal to your most honoured father. From the moment of his emergence from his retreat he said that the country was to be in three divisions. He conquered Chiangchou and Yichou and thus established a position position. Few have been his equal in all history. He made six expeditions from Ch‘ishan, and, if he failed, it was not that he lacked skill; it was the will of Heaven. But now this Latter Ruler is dull and weak, and his kingly aura is already exhausted. I have a command from the Son of Heaven to smite Shu with severity, and I already possess the land. Your capital must quickly fall. Why then do you not bow to the will of Heaven and fall in with the desires of men by acting rightly and coming over to our side? I will obtain the rank of Prince of Langya for you, whereby your ancestors will be rendered illustrious. These are no vain words if happily you will consider them.”
The letter made Chuko Chan furiously angry. He tore it to fragments and ordered the bearer thereof to be put to death immediately. He also ordered the escort to bear the head of their chief to the camp of Wei and lay it before Têng Ai.
Têng Ai was very angry at this insult and wished to go forth at once to battle. But Ch‘iu Pên dissuaded him.
“Do not go out to battle,” said he, “rather overcome him by some unexpected stroke.”
So Têng Ai laid his plans. He sent Wang Ch‘i, Prefect of T‘ienshui, and Ch‘ien Hung, Prefect of Shênsi, to lie in wait in the rear while he led the main body.
Chuko Chan happened to be close at hand seeking battle, and when he heard the enemy was near he led out his army eagerly and rushed into the midst of the invaders. Then Têng ​Ai fled as though worsted, so luring on Chuko. But when the pursuit had lasted some time the pursuers were attacked by those who lay in wait and they were defeated. They ran away into Mienchu.
Therefore Têng Ai besieged Mienchu, and the men of Wei shouted about the city and watched the ramparts, thus keeping the defenders close shut in as if held in an iron barrel.
Chuko Chan was desperate, seeing no way of escape without help from outside. Wherefore he wrote a letter to East Wu begging for assistance, and he gave this letter to one P'êng Ho to bear through the besiegers.
P'êng fought his way through and reached Wu, where he saw King Hsiu. And he presented the letter showing the wretched plight of Chuko and his urgent need.
Then the king assembled his officers and said to them, “The land of Shu being in danger, I cannot sit and look on unconcerned.”
He therefore decided to send five legions, over whom he set the veteran captain Ting Fêng, with two able lieutenants. Having received his edict, the general sent away his lieutenants with two legions to Mienchung, and he himself went with three legions toward Shouch‘un. The army marched in three divisions.
In the city Chuko Chan waited for the rescue which never came. Weary of the hopeless delay, he said to his captains, “This long defence is useless; I will fight.”
Leaving his son and another officer in the city, Chan put on his armour and led out three companies through three gates to fight in the open. Seeing the defenders making a sortie, Têng Ai drew off and Chuko Chan pursued him vigorously, thinking he really fled before his men. But there was an ambush, and falling therein he was quickly surrounded as is the kernel of a nut by the shell. In vain he thrust right and shoved left, he only lost his men. When he halted, the men of Wei poured in flights of arrows, so that his men ran hither and thither to escape. Before long, Chuko Chan was wounded and fell.
“I am done,” cried he. “But in my death I will do my duty.”
He drew his sword and slew himself.
From the city walls his son Shang saw the death of his father. Girding on his armour he made to go out to fight. A colleague told him the sacrifice would be vain, but he was obstinate.
Cried he, “My father and I and all our family have received favours from the state. My father has died in battle against our enemies, and can I live?”
He whipped his horse and dashed out into the thick of the fight, where he died. A poem has been written extolling the conduct of both father and son.
In skill he was found wanting, not in loyalty; But the Lord’s word had gone forth, That the King of Shu was to be cut off. Vain were the efforts of Chuko’s noble descendants, Though they died at the call of duty.
In commiseration of their loyalty, Têng Ai had both father and son buried fittingly.
Then he seemed as if he relaxed the closeness of the siege, and the defenders made a sortie. However, the numbers being small it availed nothing, and the leaders were slain. This was the end of the defence, and Têng Ai then entered as conqueror. Having rewarded his men, he set out for Ch'êngtu.
The closing days of the Latter Ruler were full of pain and sorrow, As had been those of Liu Chang.
The next chapter will tell of the defence of Ch'êngtu.