# San Kuo/Volume 2/Chapter 104

CHAPTER XI
A Star Falls as Chuko Liang Ascends to Heaven; a Wooden Image Affrights Ssǔma I.
The unhappy Wei did not suffer the edge of the sword, for Chuko stayed the stroke, saying, “It is my fate; not his fault.”
So Chiang put up his sword, and K‘ung-ming sank wearily upon his couch.
“Ssŭma I thinks I am dead, and he sent these few men to make sure. Go ye and drive them off,” said he.
Wei Yen left the tent and led out a small party to drive away the men of Wei, who fled as they appeared. He chased them to a distance and returned. Then K‘ung-ming sent him to his own camp and bade him keep a vigilant look-out.
Presently Chiang Wei came in, went up to the sick man’s couch and asked how he felt.
He replied, “My death is very near. My chief desire has been to spend myself to the utmost to restore the Hans and lead a glorious return of the Hans to their capital, but Heaven decrees it otherwise. I have never ceased from my studies. I have written a book in twenty chapters, one hundred and four thousand, one hundred and twelve words, treating “The eight Needfuls,' “The seven Cautions,' 'The six Fears' and 'The five Dreads' of war. But among all those about me there is no one fit to receive it and carry on my work save you. I pray you not to despise it.”
He gave the treatise to Chiang Wei, who received it sobbing.
“I have also a plan for a multiple crossbow, which I have been unable to execute. The weapon shoots ten bolts of eight inches length at every discharge. The plans are quite ready and the weapons can be made according to them.”
Chiang took the papers with a deep bow.
The dying man continued, “There is no part of Shu that causes anxiety, save Yenpʻing. That must be carefully guarded. It is protected naturally by its lofty precipices, but it will surely be lost by and by. ”
Next K‘ung-ming sent for Ma Tai, to whom he gave certain whispered instructions, and then said aloud, “You are to follow out my instructions after my death.”
Soon after, Yang I entered the tent and went to the couch. He received a silken bag containing certain secret orders. As K‘ung-ming gave it him, he said, “After my death Wei Yen will turn traitor. When that happens you will find herein who is to slay him.”
​Just as these arrangements were finished K‘ung-ming fell into a swoon, from which he did not revive till the evening. Then he set himself to compose a memorial to the king. When this reached the king he was greatly alarmed and at once sent Li Fu to visit and confer with the dying minister.
Li travelled quickly to the camp and was led to the tent of the Commander-in-chief. He delivered the king’s command and enquired after the sick man’s welfare. K‘ung-ming wept, and he replied, “Unhappily I am dying and leaving my task incomplete. I am injuring my country’s policy and am in fault to the world. After my death you must aid the king in perfect loyalty and see that the old policy is continued, and the rules of government maintained. Do not lightly cast out the men I have employed. My plans of campaign have been confided to Chiang Wei, who can continue my policy for the service of the state. But my hour draws near, and I must write my testament.”
Li Fu listened, and then took his leave. K‘ung-ming made one final effort to carry out his duties. He rose from his couch, was helped into a small carriage and thus made a round of inspection of all the camps and posts. But the cold autumn wind chilled him to the bone.
“I shall never again lead the army against the rebels,” said he. “O distant and azure Heaven, when will this end?”
K‘ung-ming returned to his tent. He became rapidly weaker and called Yang I to his bedside.
Said he, “Wang P‘ing and the others with him may be depended on to the death. They have fought many campaigns and borne many hardships; they should be retained in the public service. After my death let everything go on as before, but the army is to be gradually withdrawn. You know the tactics to be followed, and I need say little. My friend Chiang Wei is wise and brave; set him to guard the retreat.”
Yang received these orders weeping. Next, writing materials were brought in and the dying minister set himself to write his testament. It is here given in substance:—
“Life and death are the common lot, and fate cannot be evaded. Death is at hand, and I desire to prove my loyalty to the end. I, thy servant Liang, dull of parts, was born into a difficult age, and it fell to my lot to guide military operations. I led a northern expedition, but failed to win complete success. Now sickness has laid hold upon me and death approaches, so that I shall be unable to accomplish my task. My sorrow is inexpressible.
“I desire Your Majesty to cleanse your heart and limit your desires, to practise self-control and to love the people, to maintain a perfectly filial attitude toward your late father and to be benevolent to all the world. Seek out the recluse scholars that you may obtain the services of the wise and good; ​repel the wicked and depraved that your moral standard may be exalted.
“To my household belong eight hundred mulberry trees and five thousand mou of land; thus there is ample provision for my family. While I have been employed in the service of the state my needs have been supplied from official sources, but I have not contrived to make any additions to the family estate. At my death I shall not leave any increased possessions that may cause Your Majesty to suspect that I have wronged you.”
Having composed this document, the dying man turned again to Yang I, saying, “Do not wear mourning for me, but make a large coffer and therein place my body, with seven grains of rice in my mouth. Place a lamp at my feet and let my body move with the army as I was wont to do. If you refrain from mourning, then my leadership star will not fall, for my inmost soul will ascend and hold it in place. So long as my star retains its place Ssǔma I will be fearsome and suspicious. Let the army retreat, beginning with the rearmost division; send it away slowly, one camp at a time. If Ssǔma pursue, array the army and offer battle, turn to meet him and beat the attack. Let him approach till he is very near and then suddenly display the image of myself that I have had carven, seated in my chariot in the midst of the army, with the captains right and left as usual. And you will frighten Ssǔma away.”
Yang listened to these words intently and without remark. That night K‘ung-ming was carried into the open and gazed up at the sky.
“That is my star,” said he, pointing to one that seemed to be losing its brilliancy and to be tottering in its place. Kʻungming’s lips moved as if he muttered a spell. Presently he was borne into his tent and for a time was oblivious of all about him.
When the anxiety caused by this state of coma was at its height Li Fu arrived. He wept when he saw the condition of the great leader, crying that he had foiled the great designs of the state.
However, presently K‘ung-ming’s eyes reopened and fell upon Li Fu standing near his couch.
“I know your mission,” said he.
“I came with the royal command to ask also who should control the destinies of the state for the next century,” replied Li. “In my agitation I forgot to ask that.”
“After me, Chiang Wan is the most fitting man to deal with great matters.”
“And after him?”
“After him, Fei I.”
“Who next after him?”
​No reply came, and when they looked more carefully they perceived that the soul of the Great Minister had passed.
Thus died Chuko Liang, on the twenty-third day of the eighth month in the twelfth year of the period Chien-Hsing, at the age of fifty and two.
The poet Tu Fu wrote some verses on his death.
A bright star last night falling from the sky This message gave, “The Master is no more.” No more in camps shall bold men tramp at his command, At court no statesman e‘er will fill the place he held. At home, his clients miss their patron kind. Calm was his bosom, full of strategy. But lately fared we to the wood’s green shade To hail him victor; hushed that song for him.
And Po Chü-i also wrote a poem:—
Within the forest dim the Master lived obscure, Till, thrice returning, there the king his mentor met. As when a fish the ocean gains, desire was filled Wholly; the dragon freed could soar aloft at will. As king’s son’s guardian none more zealous was; As minister, most loyally he wrought at court. His war memorials still to us are left And, reading them, the tears unconscious fall.
Now in past days a certain officer named Liao Li had a high opinion of his own abilities and thought himself perfectly fitted to be K‘ung-ming’s second. So he neglected the duties of his proper post, showed discontent and indiscipline and was constantly slandering the minister. Thereupon he was degraded and exiled by K‘ung-ming. When he heard of his death he shed tears and said, “Then, after all, I am but a barbarian.”
Li Yen also grieved deeply at the sad tidings, for he had always hoped that K‘ung-ming would restore him to office and so give him the opportunity of repairing his former faults. After K‘ung-ming had died he thought there was no hope of re-employment, and so he died.
Another poet, Yüan Wei-chih, also wrote in praise of the great adviser.
He fought disorder, helped a failing king; Most zealously he kept his master’s son. In state-craft he o‘erpassed both Kuan and Yo, In war-craft he excelled both Sun and Wu. With awe the court his war memorial heard, With majesty his “Eight Arrays” were planned. Good reader, an there’s virtue in your heart You‘ll sigh to think that he has had no peer.
Heaven grieved and earth mourned on the night of K‘ungming’s death. Even the moon was dimmed. And Kʻungming returned to Heaven.
​As the late commander had directed, no one wailed his death. His body was placed in the coffer as he had wished, and three hundred of his near comrades were appointed to watch it.
Secret orders were given to Wei Yen to command the rear-guard, and then, one by one, the camps were broken up and the army began its homeward march.
Ssǔma I watched the skies. One night a large red star with bright rays passed from the north-east to the south-west and dropped over the camps of Shu. It dipped thrice and rose again. Ssǔma heard also a low rumbling in the distance. He was pleased and excited, and said to those about him, “K‘ung-ming is dead.”
At once he ordered pursuit with a strong force. But just as he passed the camp gates doubts filled his mind and he gave up the plan.
“K‘ung-ming is a master of mysteries, and it may be that this is but a ruse to get us to take the field. We may fall victims to his guile.”
So he halted. But he sent Hsiahou Pa with a few scouts to reconnoitre the enemy’s camps.
One night as Wei Yen lay asleep in his tent he dreamed a dream. In his vision two horns grew out of his head. When he awoke he was much perplexed to explain his dream. A certain Expeditionary Ssu-ma, Chao Chih, came to see him, and Wei Yen said, “You are versed in mysteries. I have dreamed that two horns grew upon my head, and would trouble you to expound the dream and tell me its portent.”
His visitor thought a moment and replied, “It is an auspicious dream. There are horns on the head of the chilin and the dragon. It augurs transformation into an ascending creature.”
Wei Yen, much pleased, thanked the interpreter of his dream and promised him gifts when the dream proved true.
Chao Chih left and presently met Fei I, who asked whence he came.
“From the camp of our friend Wei Yen. He dreamed that he grew horns upon his head, and I have given him an auspicious interpretation. But really it is inauspicious. However, I did not wish to annoy him.””
“How do you know it is inauspicious?”
“The word for horn is composed of two parts, ‘knife' above and 'use' below, and so means that there is a knife upon his head. It is a terrible omen.”
“Keep it secret,” said Fei.”
Then Fei I went to the camp of Wei Yen, and when they were alone, he said, “The minister died last night in the third watch. He left certain final orders, and among them, that you are to command the rear-guard to keep Ssǔma at bay ​while the army retreats. No mourning is to be worn. Here is your authority, so you can march forthwith.
“Who is acting in place of the late minister?” asked Wei.
“The chief command has been delegated to Yang I, but the secret plans of campaign have been entrusted to Chiang Wei. This authority issues from him.”
Wei replied, “Though the minister is dead, I am yet alive. Yang is only a civil officer and unequal to this post. He ought to conduct the coffin home while I lead the army against Ssǔma I. I shall achieve success, and it is wrong to abandon a whole plan of campaign because of the death of one man, even if that be the Prime Minister.'
“His orders were to retire, and these orders are to be obeyed.”
“If the late minister had listened to me we should now have been at Ch‘angan. I am the senior general and of high rank. I am not going to act as rear-guard for any civil official.”
“It may be as you say, General, but you must not do anything to make us ridiculous. Let me go back to Yang I and explain, and I may be able to persuade him to pass on to you the supreme military authority he holds.”
Wei Yen agreed, and the visitor went back to the main camp and told Yang I what had passed.
Yang replied, “When near death the minister confided to me that Wei would turn traitor. I sent him the authority to test him, and now he has discovered himself as the minister foretold. So I will direct Chiang Wei to command the rearguard.”
The coffer containing the remains of K‘ung-ming was sent on in advance, and Chiang Wei took up his post to cover the retreat. Meanwhile Wei Yen sat in his tent waiting for the return of Fei I and was perplexed at the delay. When the suspense became unbearable he sent Ma Tai to find out the reason. Ma returned and told him that Chiang Wei was covering the retreat and that most of the army had already gone.
Wei Yen was furious. “How dare he play with me, the pedantic blockhead?” cried he. “But he shall die for this. Will you help me?” said he, turning to Ma Tai.
Ma replied, “I have long hated him; certainly I am ready to attack him.”
So Wei Yen broke camp and marched southward.
By the time Hsiahou Pa had reached the Shu camps they were all empty, and he hastened back with this news.
“Then he is really dead; let us pursue,” said Ssŭma I, much irritated at being misled.
“Be cautious,” said Hsiahou. “Send an inferior leader first.”
​“No; I must go myself this time.”
So Ssǔma and his two lieutenants hastened to the Wuchang Plain. With shouts and waving flags, they rushed into the camps, only to find them quite deserted. Telling his lieutenants to bring up the remaining force with all speed, Ssǔma hastened in the wake of the retreating army. Coming to some hills, he saw them in the distance and pressed on still harder. Then suddenly a bomb exploded, a great shout broke the stillness, and the retiring army turned about and came toward him, ready for battle. In their midst fluttered a great banner bearing the words, “Prime Minister of Han, Marquis of Wuhsiang, Chuko Liang.”
Ssůma I stopped, pale with fear. Then out from the army came some score of captains of rank, and they were escorting a small carriage, in which sat K‘ung-ming as he had always appeared, in his hand the feather fan.
“Then he is still alive!” gasped Ssǔma. “And I have rashly placed myself in his power.”
As he pulled round his horse to flee, Chiang Wei shouted, “Do not try to run away, O rebel; you have fallen into one of the minister’s traps and had better stay.”
The soldiers, seized with panic, fled, throwing off all their gear. They trampled each other down, and many perished. Their leader galloped fifty li without pulling rein. When at last two of his captains came up with him, and had stopped his flying steed by catching at the bridle, Ssǔma clapped his hand to his head, crying, “Have I still a head?”
“Do not fear, General, the soldiers of Shu are now far away,” they replied.
But he still panted with fear, and only after some time did he recognise that his two companions were Hsiahou Pa and Hsiahou Hui.
The three found their way by by-roads to their own camp, whence scouts were sent out in all directions. In a few days the natives brought news that the Shu army had really gone, and they said further that as soon as the retiring army had entered the valley they had raised a wailing for the dead and hoisted white flags. They also said that K‘ung-ming was really dead, and Chiang Wei’s rear-guard consisted of only one company. The figure in the carriage was only a wooden image of the minister.
“While he lived I could guess what he would do; dead, I was helpless,” said Ssǔma.
The people had a saying that a dead Chuko was enough to scare off a live Ssŭma.
In the depth of night a brilliant star Fell from the northern sky; Doubts stayed Ssǔma when he would pursue His dead, but fearsome enemy.
And even now the western men, With scornful smile, will say, “Oh, is my head on my shoulder still? It was nearly lost to-day."
Now indeed Ssŭma knew that his great rival was no more, so he retook the pursuit. But he never came up with the Shu army. As he took the homeward road he said to his officers, “We can now sleep in comfort.”
As they marched back they saw the camps of their enemies, and were amazed at their skilful arrangement.
“Truly a wonderful genius?” sighed Ssŭma.
The armies of Wei returned to Ch‘angan; leaving officers to guard the various strategical points. Ssǔma himself went on to the capital.
Yang I and Chiang Wei retired slowly and in good order till they neared the Tsanko road, when they donned mourning garb and began to wail for their dead. The soldiers threw themselves on the ground and wailed in sorrow. Some even wailed themselves to death.
But as the leading companies entered upon the Tsanko road they saw a great blaze in front, and, with a great shout, a cohort came out barring the way. The leaders were taken aback and sent to inform the general.
The regiments of Wei are nowhere near, Then who are these soldiers that now appear?
The next chapter will tell who they were.