# San Kuo/Volume 2/Chapter 119

CHAPTER CXIX.
False Desertion; a Subtle Scheme; a Second Abdication Resembles the First.
Asked to say what was the best plan to secure the arrest of Têng Ai, Chiang Wei said, “Send Wei Kuan: Têng will try to kill him and so manifest the desire of his heart. Then you can destroy him as a traitor.”
Hence Wei was sent, with a score or so of men, to effect the arrest. Wei’s own men saw the danger of the enterprise and urged him not to go, but he felt confident and heeded them not.
Wei Kuan first wrote a score or two of letters, all in the same terms, saying that he had orders to arrest Têng Ai, but no other persons would be dealt with providing they submitted quickly. On the contrary, they might hope for rewards. However, the laggards and those who were contumacious would be dealt with severely. He sent these letters to various officers who were serving under Têng. He also prepared two cage carts.
Wei and his small party reached the capital about cock-crow and found waiting for him most of the officers to whom he had written. They at once yielded. Têng Ai was still asleep when the party reached his palace, but Wei entered and forced his way into Têng’s chamber. He roared out that he had orders to arrest father and son, and the noise awakened the sleeper, who tumbled off his couch in alarm. But before he could do anything to defend himself he was seized, securely bound and huddled into one of the carts. Têng’s son rushed in at the noise, but was also made prisoner and thrust into the other cart. Many captains and attendants were in the palace, but before they had recovered from their fright a cry arose that Chung Hui was close at hand, and they scattered.
Chung Hui and Chiang Wei dismounted at the palace gates and entered. The former, seeing both the Têngs prisoners, struck the elder about the head and face with his whip and insulted him, calling him a vile cattle breeder and so on. Nor was Chiang Wei backward.
“You fool! See what your good luck has brought you to-day!” cried he.
And Têng Ai replied in kind. Chung Hui at once sent off both the prisoners to Loyang, and then entered the capital in ​state. He added all Têng’s army to his own forces, so that he became very formidable.
“To-day I have attained the one desire of my life,” cried Chung.
Chiang replied, “Han Hsin hearkened not to K‘uai T‘ung and so blundered into trouble at the Weiyang Palace; the T‘ai-fu Wên Chung would not follow Fan Li into retirement and fell victim to a sword on the lakes. No one would say these two were not brilliant, but they did not scent danger early enough. Now, Sir, your merit is great and your prestige overwhelming, but why do you risk future dangers? Why not sail off in a boat leaving no trace of your going? Why not go to Mount Omi and wander free with Chih Sung-tzu?”
Chung smiled. “I do not think your advice much to the point. I am a young man, not forty yet, and think rather of going on than halting. I could not take up a do-nothing hermit’s life.”
“If you do not, then take heed and prepare for dangers. Think out a careful course, as you are well able to do. You need not trouble any old fool for advice.”
Chung Hui laughed loud and rubbed his hands together with glee.
“How well you know my thoughts, my friend!” said he.
They two became absorbed in the plans for their grand scheme. But Chiang wrote a secret letter to his late lord praying him to be patient and put up with humiliations for a season, for he would be restored in good time. The sun and moon were all the more glorious when they burst through the dark clouds. The House of Han was not yet done.
While these two were planning how best to outwit each other, but both being against Wei, there suddenly arrived a letter from Ssǔma Chao saying he was at Ch‘angan with an army lest there should be any difficulty in disposing of Têng Ai. Chung Hui divined the real purport at once.
“He suspects,” said Chung. “He knows quite well that my army outnumbers that of Têng many times and I could do what he wishes easily. There is more than that in his coming.”
He consulted his fellow-conspirator, who said, “When the prince suspects a minister, that minister dies. Have we not seen Têng Ai?”
“This decides me,” replied Chung. “Success, and the empire is mine; failure, and I go west into Shu to be another Liu Pei, but without his mistakes.”
Chiang said, “The Empress Kuo has just died. You can pretend she left you a command to destroy Ssŭma Chao, the real murderer of the Emperor. Your talents are quite sufficient to conquer the empire.”
​“Will you lead the van?” said Chung. “When success is ours we will share the spoil.”
“The little I can do I will do most willingly,” said Chiang. “But I am not sure of the support of all our subordinates.”
“To-morrow is the Feast of Lanterns, and we can gather in the palace for the congratulations. There will be grand illuminations, and we will prepare a banquet for the officers, whereat we can kill all those who will not follow us.”
At this the heart of Chiang Wei leapt with joy. Invitations were sent out in the joint names of the two conspirators, and the feast began. After several courses, suddenly Chung Wei lifted his cup and broke into wailing.
Everyone asked what was the cause of this grief, and Chung replied. “The Empress has just died, but before her death she gave me an edict, which is here, recounting the crimes of Ssŭma Chao and charging him with aiming at the Throne. I am commissioned to destroy him, and you all must join me in the task.”
The guests stared at each other in amazement, but no one uttered a word. Then the host suddenly drew his sword, crying, “Here is death for those who oppose!”
Not one was bold enough to refuse, and, one by one, they all signed a promise to help. As further security, they were all kept prisoners in the palace under careful guard.
“They are not really with us,” said Chiang Wei. “I venture to request you to 'bury' them.”
“A great pit has been already dug,” replied his brother host. “And I have a lot of clubs ready. We can easily club those who disagree and bury them in the pit.”
A certain officer named Ch‘iu Chien, a man in the confidence of the conspirators, was present. He had once served under Hu Lieh, who was one of the imprisoned guests, and he found means to warn his former chief.
Hu Lieh wept and said, “My son is in command of a force outside the city. He will never suspect Chung capable of such a crime, and I pray you to tell him. If I am to die it will be with less regret if my son can be told.”
“Kind master, have no anxiety; only leave it to me,” replied Ch‘iu.
He went to Chung Hui, and said, “Sir, you are holding in captivity a large number of officers, and they are suffering from lack of food and water. Will you not appoint an officer to supply their needs?”
Chung Hui was accustomed to yield to the wishes of Ch‘iu, and he made no difficulty about this. He told him to see to it himself. Only saying, “I am placing great trust in you, and you must be loyal.”
“My lord, you may be quite content. I know how to keep a strict watch when necessary.”
​But he allowed to enter into the place of confinement a trusty confidant of Hu Lieh, who gave him a letter to his son Yüan. It told him the whole story.
Hu Yüan told his subordinates, and they were greatly enraged. They came to their commander’s tent to say they would rather die than follow a rebel. So Hu Yüan fixed upon the eighteenth day of the month to attempt the rescue. He enlisted the sympathy of Wei Kuan and got his men ready. He bade Ch‘iu tell his father what was afoot. Hu Lieh told his fellow-captives.
Now Chung Hui dreamed a dream, that he was bitten by many serpents, and he asked Chiang Wei to expound the vision. Chiang replied that dreams of dragons and snakes and scaly creatures were exceedingly auspicious. Chung was only too ready to accept this interpretation. Then he told Chiang that all was ready and they would put the crucial question to each captive.
“I know they are opposed to us, and you would do well to slay them all, and that right quickly,” replied Chiang.
“Good,” replied Chung.
He bade Chiang turn in some ruffians among the captives. But just as Chiang was starting to carry out these instructions he was seized with a sudden spasm of the heart, so severe that he fainted. He was raised from the earth and in time revived. Just as he came to, a tremendous hubbub arose outside the palace. Chung at once sent to enquire what was afoot, but the noise waxed louder and louder, sounding like the rush of a multitude.
“The officers must be raging,” said Chung. “We had best slay them at once.”
But they told him that soldiers were in the palace. Chung bade them close the doors of the Hall of Audience, and he sent his own men upon the roof to pelt the incoming soldiers with tiles. A few were slain on either side.
Then a fire broke out. The assailants broke open the doors. Chung Hui faced them and slew a few, but others shot at him with arrows, and he fell and died. They hacked off his head.
Chiang Wei ran to and fro slaying all he met till another heart spasm seized him.
“Failed!” he shrieked, “But it is the will of Heaven.” He put an end to his own life. He was fifty-nine.
Many hundreds were slain within the precincts of the palace. Wei Kuan presently ordered that the soldiers were to be led back to their various camps to await the orders of the king. The soldiers of Wei, burning for revenge, hacked the dead body of Chiang Wei to pieces. They found his gall bladder extraordinarily large, as large as a hen’s egg. They also seized and slew all the family of the dead leader.
​Seeing that Têng Ai’s two enemies on the spot were both dead, his old soldiers bethought themselves of trying to rescue him. When Wei Kuan, who had actually arrested Têng, heard this he feared for his life. Further, he was unwilling to forgo his revenge.
“If he gets free it means my death,” said Wei.
Then T‘ien Hsü spoke out, saying, “When Têng Ai took Chiangyu he wished to put me to death. It was only at the prayer of my friends that he let me off. May I not have my revenge now?”
So at the head of half a company T‘ien went in pursuit of the cage-carts. He came up with them at Mienchu and found that the two prisoners had just been released from the carts in which they were being carried to Loyang. When Têng saw that those coming up were men of his own late command, he took no thought for defence. Nor did T‘ien waste time in preliminaries. He went up to where Têng was standing and cut him down. His men fell upon the son, Têng Chung, and slew him also, and thus father and son met death in the same place.
A poem, pitying Têng Ai, was written:—
While yet a boy, Têng loved to sketch and plan; He was an able leader as a man. The earth could hide no secrets from his eye, With equal skill he read the starry sky. Past every obstacle his way he won, And onward pressed until his task was done. But foulest murder closed a great career, His spirit ranges now a larger sphere.
A poem was also composed in pity for Chung Hui:—
Of mother-wit Chung had no scanty share, And in due time at court did office bear; His subtle plans shook Ssǔma’s hold on power, He was well named the Tzu-fang of the hour. Chouch‘un and Chienko ramparts straight fell down, When he attacked, and he won great renown. Ambition beckoned, he would forward press— His spirit homeward wandered, bodiless.
Another poem, in pity of Chiang Wei, runs:—
Tiensui boasts of a hero, talent came forth from Liangchou, Chang Liang fathered his spirit, Chuko tutored his mind, Valiant he ever pressed forward, nor had a thought of returning, Grieved were the soldiers of Han when death rapt his soul from his body.
​And thus died all three of the great leaders in Shu. Many other captains also perished, and with them died Liu Jui, the heir-apparent. Followed a time of great confusion, which endured till Chia Ch‘ung arrived and restored confidence and order. He set Wei Kuan over the city of Ch'êngtu and sent the captive king to Loyang. Few officers accompanied the deposed king on this degrading journey. Liao Hua and Tung Chüeh made illness an excuse not to go. They died of grief soon after.
At this time the year-style of Wei was changed to Hsien-K‘ang. In the third month of this year, since nothing could be done to assist Shu to recover its independence, the troops of Wu were withdrawn and returned to their own land.
Now the officer Hua Ho sent up a memorial to Sun Hsiu, King of Wu, saying, “Wu and Shu were as close as are one’s lips to one’s teeth, and when the lips are gone the teeth are cold. Without doubt Ssŭma Chao will now turn his thoughts to attacking us, and Your Majesty must realise the danger and prepare to meet it.”
The king knew that he spoke truly, so he set Lu K‘ang, son of the late able leader Lu Hsün, over the army of Chingchou and the river ports with the title “Guardian of the East,” and Sun I was sent to Nanhsü to control the camps along the river banks. Over all he set the veteran Ting Fêng.
When Ho Ko, Prefect of Chienning, heard that Ch'êngtu had been taken, he dressed himself in white and wailed during three days, facing toward the capital.
“Now that the capital has fallen and the king is a captive, it would be well to surrender,” said his officers.
Ho replied, “There is a hindrance. I know not how fares our lord, whether he is in comfort or in misery. If his captors treat him generously, then will I yield. But perhaps they will put him to shame, and when his prince is shamed the minister dies.”
So certain persons were sent to Loyang to find out how fared the late king.
Soon after Liu Ch‘an reached the capital of Wei, Ssŭma Chao returned. Seeing Liu Ch‘an at court, he upbraided him, saying that he deserved death for his vicious courses, which had brought misfortune upon him. Hearing this, the face of the late king turned to the colour of clay with fear, and he was speechless.
But certain of the courtiers said, “He has lost his kingdom, he has surrendered without a struggle, and he now deserves pardon.”
Liu Ch‘an suffered no injury, but was created Duke of Anlô. Moreover, he was assigned a residence and a revenue, and he received presents of silk, and servants were sent to wait upon him, male and female. The officers of Shu, who had accom​panied him into exile, were given ranks of nobility. But Huang Hao, whose evil influence had brought the kingdom to nought, and who had oppressed the people, was put to death with ignominy in the public place.
When Ho Ko heard all these things he came with his officers and yielded submission.
Liu Ch‘an went to the residence of Ssŭma Chao to thank him for his bounty, and a banquet was prepared. At the banquet they performed the music of Wei, with the dances, and the hearts of the men of Shu were sad; only Liu Ch‘an appeared merry. Half way through the feast, Ssǔma said to Chia Ch‘ung, “The man lacks feeling; that is what has ruined him. Even if Chuko Liang had lived, he could not have maintained such a man. It is not wonderful that Chiang Wei failed.”
Turning to his guest, Ssŭma said, “Do you never think of Shu?”
“With such music as this I forget Shu,” replied Liu Chʻan.
Presently Liu Ch‘an rose and left the table. Ch‘i Chêng went over to him and said, “If you are questioned again, weep and say that in Shu are the tombs of your forefathers and no day passes that you do not grieve to be so far away. The duke may let you return.”
The late king promised he would. When the wine had gone round several more times Ssǔma put the same question a second time; the king replied as he had been told. He also tried to weep, but failed to shed a tear. So he shut his eyes.
“Is not that just what Ch‘i Chêng told you to say?” asked his host.
“It is just as you say,” was the reply.
They all laughed. But really Ssŭma was pleased with the frank answer and felt that nothing was to be feared from him.
Laughter loving, pleasure pursuing, Rippling smiles o‘er a merry face, Never a thought of his former glory In his callous heart finds place. Childish joy in a change of dwelling, That he feels, and that alone; Manifest now that he was never Worthy to sit on his father’s throne.
The courtiers thought that so grand an exploit as the conquest of the west was worthy of high honour, so they memorialised the King of Wei to confer princedom on Ssǔma Chao. At that time, Ts‘ao Huan ruled in name only, for he had no authority. The whole land was under Ssǔma, whose will the king himself dared not cross. And so, in due course, the duke became Prince of Chin. To match the new honour to the ​son, his father, Ssǔma I, was posthumously created Prince Hsüan and his late elder brother Prince Ching.
The wife of Ssŭma Chao was the daughter of Wang Su. She bore to him two sons, the elder of whom was named Yen. Yen was huge of frame, his flowing hair reached to the ground when he stood up, and both hands hung down below his knees. He was clever, brave and skilled in the use of arms.
The second son, Yu, was mild of disposition, a filial son and a dutiful brother. His father loved him dearly. As Ssŭma Shih had died without leaving sons, this youth, Yu, was regarded as his son, to continue that line of the family. Ssŭma Chao used to say that the empire was really his brother’s.
Becoming a prince, it was necessary for Ssǔma Chao to choose his heir, and he wished to name his younger son. Shan T‘ao remonstrated.
“It is improper and infelicitous to prefer the younger,” said Shan, and Chia Ch‘ung followed in the same strain.
“The elder is clever, able in war, one of the most talented men in the state and popular. With such natural advantages he has a great destiny; and was not born to serve.”
Ssǔma hesitated, for he was still unwilling to abandon his desire. But two other officers of rank also remonstrated, saying, “Certain former dynasties have preferred the younger before the elder and rebellion has generally followed. We pray you reflect upon these cases.”
Finally Ssŭma Chao yielded and named his son Yen as his successor.
Certain officers memorialised that a gigantic figure of a man had descended from heaven in Hsiangwuhsien. They gave his height as twenty feet and said that his foot-print measured over three feet two inches. He had white hair and a hoary beard. He wore an unlined yellow robe and a yellow cape. He walked leaning on a black-handled staff.
This extraordinary man preached, saying, “I am the king of men now come to tell you of a change of ruler and the coming of peace.”
He wandered about for three days and then disappeared.
They continued, “Evidently this portent refers to yourself, Noble Sir, and now you should assume the imperial head-dress with twelve strings of pearls, set up the imperial standard and have the roads cleared when you make a progress. You should ride in the golden-shafted carriage with six coursers. Your Consort should be styled 'Empress' and your heir the 'Heir Apparent.' ”
Ssǔma Chao was greatly pleased. He returned to his palace, but just as he was sitting down he was suddenly seized with paralysis and lost the use of his tongue. He quickly grew worse. His three chief confidants, Wang Hsiang, Ho Tsêng and Hsün I, together with many court officials, came to enquire ​after his health, but he could not speak to them. He pointed toward the heir apparent, Ssŭma Yen, and died. It was the hsin-mao day of the eighth month.
Then said Ho Tsêng, “The care of the empire devolves upon the Prince of Chin; let us induct the heir. Then we can perform the sacrifices to the late prince.”
Thereupon Ssǔma Yen was set up in his father’s place. He gave Ho the title of Prime Minister and conferred many other titles and ranks. The posthumous title of “Prince Wên” was conferred upon his late father.
When the obsequies were finished, Ssǔma Yen summoned Chia Ch‘ung and P‘ei Hsiu into the palace, and said, “Ts‘ao Ts‘ao said that if the celestial mandate rested upon him he could be such as was King Wên of Chou; is this really so?”
Chia replied, “Ts‘ao Ts‘ao was in the service of Han and feared lest posterity should reproach him with usurpation. Wherefore he spoke thus. Nevertheless he cause Ts‘ao P‘ei to become Emperor.”
“How did my father compare with Ts‘ao Ts‘ao?” asked Ssŭma Yen.
“Although Ts‘ao was universally successful, yet the people feared him and credited him with no virtue. His son differed from him greatly, and his rule was marked by strife and lack of tranquillity. No single year was peaceful. Later Prince Hsüan and Prince Ching of your line rendered great services and disseminated compassion and virtue, so that they were beloved. Your late father overcame Shu in the west and was universally renowned. Comparison with Ts‘ao is impossible.”
“Still Ts‘ao P‘ei continued the rule of Han; can I not in like manner continue that of Wei?”
The two counsellors bowed low and said, “Ts‘ao P‘ei’s action may be taken as a precedent to continue an older dynasty. Wherefore prepare a terrace to make the great declaration.
Ssǔma Yen resolved to act promptly. Next day he entered the palace armed with a sword. No Court had been held for many days, for Ts‘ao Huan was ill at ease and full of dread. When Yen appeared, the king left his place and advanced to met him. Ssǔma Yen sat down.
“By whose merits did Wei succeed to empire?” he asked suddenly.
“Certainly success was due to your forefathers,” replied the king.
Yen smiled, saying, “Your Majesty is unskilled in debate, inept in war and unfit to rule. Why not give place to another more able and virtuous?”
The king’s lips refused a reply. But one of the ministers cried, “You are wrong to speak thus, O Prince. His Majesty’s ancestor conquered east and west, north and south, and won the empire by strenuous effort. The present Emperor is ​virtuous and without fault. Why should he yield place to another?”
Ssǔma Yen replied angrily, “The imperial right lay with the Hans, and Ts‘ao Ts‘ao coerced them as he did the nobles. In making himself the King of Wei he usurped the throne of Han. Three generations of my forefathers upheld the House of Wei, so that their power is not the result of their own abilities, but of the labour of my house. This is known to all the world, and am I not equal to carrying on the rule of Wei?”
“If you do this thing you will be a rebel and an usurper,” said Chang Chieh.
“And what shall I be if I avenge the wrongs of Han?”
He bade the lictors take Chang outside and beat him to death, while the king wept and besought pardon for his faithful counsellor.
Ssǔma rose and left. The king turned to Chia Ch‘ung and P‘ei Hsiu, saying, “What should I do? Some decision must be taken.”
They replied, “Truth to tell, the measure of your fate is accomplished and you cannot oppose the will of Heaven. You must prepare to abdicate as did Hsien of the Hans. Resign the throne to the prince and thereby accord with the design of Heaven and the will of the people. Your personal safety need not cause you anxiety.”
Huan could only accept this advice, and the terrace was built. The day chia-tzu of the twelfth month was chosen for the ceremony. On that day the king, dressed in full robes of ceremony, and bearing the seal in his hand, ascended the terrace in the presence of a great assembly.
The House of Wei displaced the House of Han And Chin succeeded Wei; so turns fate’s wheel And none escape its grinding. Chang the true Stood in the way and died. We pity him. Vain hope with one small hand to hide Mount T‘ai!
The Emperor-elect was requested to ascend the high place, and there received the great salute. Huan then descended, robed himself as a duke and took his place as the first of subjects.
Ssǔma Yen now stood upon the terrace, supported by Chia and P‘ei. Ts‘ao Huan was ordered to prostrate himself, while the command was recited, and Chia Chung read:—
“Forty-five years have elapsed since, in the twenty-fifth year of Chien-An, the House of Han gave place to the House of Wei. But the favour of Heaven has now left the latter House and reverts to Chin. The merits and services of the family of Ssŭma reach to the high heavens and pervade the earth. The Prince of Chin is fitted for the high office and to continue the rule. Now His Majesty the Emperor confers upon you the ​title of Prince Ch'ênliu; you are to proceed to Chinchingchung, where you will reside; you are forbidden to come to Court unless summoned.”
Sadly Ts‘ao Huan withdrew. The T‘ai-fu Ssŭma Fu wept before the deposed king and promised eternal devotion. “I have been a servant of Wei and will never turn my back upon the House,” said he.
Ssǔma Yen did not take this amiss, but offered him a princedom. He declined the offer.
The new Emperor was now seated in his place, and all the officers made their salutations and felicitated him. The very hills rang with “Wan shui! O King, live for ever!”
Thus succeeded Ssŭma Yen, and the state was called Ta Chin and a new year-style was chosen, T‘ai-Shih, or the “Great Beginning.” An amnesty was declared.
The kingdom of Wei had ended.
The Founder of the Dynasty of Chin Took Wei as model; thus the displaced king Was named a prince, when on the terrace high His throne he had renounced. We grieve when we recall these deeds.
The new Emperor conferred posthumous rank upon his late father, Ssǔma I, his uncle and his grandfather. He built seven temples in honour of his ancestors, dedicated to Ssŭma Chun, Ssŭma Liang, Ssŭma Chien, Ssŭma Fang, Ssŭma I, Ssŭma Shih and Ssǔma Chao. All these, except his uncle, were in his own direct line of ancestry.
All these things being accomplished, Courts were held daily, and the one subject of discussion was the subjugation of Wu.
The House of Han has gone for aye, And Wu will quickly follow.
The story of the attack upon Wu will be told next.