# San Kuo/Volume 2/Chapter 78

CHAPTER LXXVIII.
Hua T‘o, Treating Ts‘ao Ts‘ao, Himself Dies; Ts‘ao Ts‘ao‘s Last Words and Death.
As has been said, the Prince of Hanchung swooned on hearing the terrible news of the death of the two Kuans, father and son. His officers went to his help, and when he had recovered sufficiently they led him to his private apartments.
“My lord, control your grief,” said K‘ung-ming. “Life and death are fixed by fate. Kuan Yü brought the evil upon himself by his harshness and haughtiness. You must now take care of your health and mature your vengeance.”
“When we swore brotherhood in the Peach Garden we pledged ourselves to live or die together. What enjoyment of riches and honours is there for me now that my brother is gone?”
Just then he saw Kuan Yü's son, Hsing, coming in in deep distress. At sight of the youth, Liu Pei uttered a great cry and again sank to the earth. By and by he came to, and spent the whole day weeping and swooning at intervals. For three days he refused all nourishment, and he wept so bitterly that his garments were wetted, and there were spots of blood. K‘ung-ming and the others tried every means to soothe him, but he was inconsolable.
“I swear I will not live under the same heaven as Sun Ch'üan,” cried he.
“It is said that the head of your brother has been sent to Ts‘ao Ts‘ao, but Ts‘ao has buried the remains with the rites of a princely noble,” said K‘ung-ming.
“Why did he do that?” asked Yüan-tê. ”
“Because he thought thereby to bring evil upon Ts‘ao. But Ts‘ao saw through the subterfuge and has buried your brother with great honour so that your anger may burn against Wu.'
“I want to send my armies to punish Wu and appease my wrath,” said Yüan-tê.
“No; you may not do that. Wu wishes to move you to smite Wei, and Wei wishes you to attack Wu, each harbouring the malevolent design of taking advantage of the quarrel. You would do well, my lord, to keep your armies at home. Put on mourning for Kuan Yü, and wait till Wei and Wu are at war. That will be your time.”
The other officers supported K‘ung-ming, and Yüan-tê listened. Presently his grief spent itself, and he began to take ​food again. An edict was promulgated enjoining mourning dress upon all officials. The prince went outside the south gate to summon the spirit home, and sacrificed and wailed a whole day for the dead warrior, his brother.
Although Ts‘ao Ts‘ao had given honourable burial to the remains of Kuan Yü, yet he was continually haunted by the dead man’s spirit. Every night when he closed his eyes he saw Kuan the Noble as he knew him so well in the flesh. These visions made him nervous, and he sought the advice of his officers. Some suggested the building of new rooms for his own use.
“There is much witchcraft and malign influence in this old palace at Loyang; build new rooms for your own occupation,” said they.
“I would, and it should be called 'Chienshih,' or 'The Firm Foundation,' ” said he. “But where is the architect?”
They told him there was one Su Yüeh, a very cunning artificer. He was called and set to work on the plans for a nine chien pavilion for Ts‘ao Ts‘ao’s own use. It had verandahs and upper rooms as well. His plans pleased Ts‘ao greatly.
“You have planned just such a place as I wished, only where will you find the main beam for such a building?”
“I know a certain tree that will serve,” said the architect. “About thirty li from the city there is the Pool of the Leaping Dragon. Near it is a shrine, and beside that grows a fine pear tree. It is over a hundred feet high, and that will serve for the roof tree.
Ts‘ao Ts‘ao at once sent men to fell the tree. But after one whole day’s labour the men came back to say they could make no impression on it neither with saw nor axe. Ts‘ao, doubting their word, went to see. When he had dismounted and stood by the tree he could not but admire its size and proportions, as it rose above him tall, straight and unbranched till the wide-spreading and symmetrical top reached into the clouds. But he bade the men attack it again. Then a few aged men of the village came and said, “The tree has stood here some centuries and is the haunt of a spirit. We think it should not be cut down.”
Ts‘ao grew annoyed. “I have gone to and fro in the world now some forty years, and there is no one, from the Emperor to the commoner, who does not fear me. What spirit is there who dares oppose my wish?”
Drawing the sword he was wearing, he went up to the tree and slashed at the trunk. The tree groaned as he struck, and blood stains spattered his dress. Terror-stricken, he threw down the sword, mounted his horse and galloped off.
But that evening when he retired to rest he could not sleep. He rose, went into the outer room and sat there leaning on a ​low table. Suddenly a man appeared with his hair unbound, dressed in black and carrying a naked sword. The visitor came straight toward Ts‘ao stopped in front of him and, pointing, cried out, “Behold the Spirit of the pear tree. You may desire to build your chien-shih pavilion and you may contemplate rebellion, but when you began to attack my sacred tree the number of your days was accomplished. I am come now to slay you.”
“Where are the guards?” shouted Ts‘ao in terror.
The figure struck at him with the sword. Ts‘ao cried out and then awoke. His head was aching unbearably.
They sought the best physicians for him, but they failed to relieve the terrible pain.
Sympathy for their lord was universal among Ts‘ao’s subordinates. Hua Hsin one day said to his master, “My lord, have you heard of Hua T‘o?”
“Do you mean him of Chiangtung who cured Chou T‘ai?”
“Yes; that is he,” replied Hua Hsin.
“I have heard something of his fame, but I know nothing of his capabilities in his art.”
“He is very clever; there are few so skilful. If one is ill and calls him in he knows immediately whether to use drugs, or the needle, or the cautery, and the patient finds relief at once. Let one suffer from an internal complaint and drugs are ineffectual, with a dose of hashish he throws the patient into a state of perfect insensibility and then opens the abdomen and washes the affected organs with a medicament. The patient feels no pain. When the cleansing is complete, he sews up the wound with thread, dresses it, and in a month or less the patient is well. This shows you how skilful he is.
“One day Hua was travelling, when he heard a man by the wayside groaning with pain.
“ 'That is dyspepsia,' said he. And further questions confirmed the diagnosis. He prescribed long draughts of the juice of garlic as an emetic, and the man vomited a worm; after this he was quite well. One Ch'ên Têng, the Prefect of Kuangling, suffered from a heavy feeling at the heart. His face was red and congested, and he had no appetite. Hua gave him a drug, and he threw up many internal wriggling parasites with red heads. The Prefect asked what had caused the trouble, and Hua told him that he ate too much strong-smelling fish. He could cure him this once, but in three years the disease would recur, and then nothing could save him. Three years later Ch‘en died. Another man had a tumour between the eyes, and it itched intolerably. Hua examined it and said there was a bird in it. The tumour was opened, and, surely enough, a canary flew out. The patient was relieved. A dog bit a man’s toe, and two tumourous growths ensued, one of which itched intolerably and the other pained ​severely. Hua said the painful one contained several needles, and the other a couple of wei-ch‘i pips. He opened the two swellings, and the contents were as he had said. Really he is of the same class of leech as Pien Ch‘iao and Ts‘ang Kung. He lives at Chinch'êng, not far away, and could be here very soon.”
Ts‘ao Ts‘ao summoned him, and as soon as he arrived Hua T‘o felt the pulse and made careful examination.
“Prince, your headaches are due to a malignant humour within the brain case. The humour is too thick to get out. Swallowing drugs will do no good. But I propose to administer a dose of hashish, then open the brain case and remove the thickened humour. That will be a radical cure.”
“You mean you want to kill me,” cried Ts‘ao angrily. ”
“O Prince, you have heard how I cured Kuan Yü of the poison that had got into his bones? I scraped them, and he did not hesitate a moment. Your malady is trifling, and why do you mistrust me?”
“A painful arm may be scraped, but how can you cut open a man’s head? The fact is you have conspired with some of Kuan’s friends to take this opportunity to make away with me in revenge for his death.”
He told his lictors to hale Hua T‘o to gaol, and there he was tortured to try to find who were his accomplices. Chia Hsü pleaded for him on account of his rare skill, but his intervention was of no avail.
“The man wants to get a chance to kill me; he is the same sort of scoundrel as Chi P‘ing.”
The wretched physician was subjected to worse sufferings.
His gaoler was a certain Wu, nicknamed “The Gaoler” by nearly everybody. He was kindly disposed to Hua and saw that he was well fed. Hua T‘o conceived a liking for his gaoler and said to him one day, “I am doomed, I know. The pity is that my Black Bag treatise on medicine may be lost. You have been most kind to me, and as I have no other way of recompensing you I will give you a letter to my wife telling her to send the Black Bag, and I will give it to you that you may carry on my art.”
Wu rejoiced greatly, thinking that he would throw up the menial position of gaoler and travel about the country healing sick folk, and so he told Hua T‘o to write the letter and promised to carry on his work.
The letter was written and given to Wu “The Gaoler,” who lost no time in sending a man to Hua T‘o’s house for the Black Bag. After Hua T‘o had read through the book carefully, he presented it to Wu, who took it home and hid it away.
Not many days after this, Hua T‘o died in prison. “The Gaoler” bought a coffin and had him buried. This done, he quitted the prison and went home. But when he asked for ​the book he found that his wife had discovered it and was using it to light the fire. He snatched away what was left of it, but a whole volume was missing, and what was left amounted only to a few pages. He vented his anger in cursing his wife, and she retorted, saying, “If you become such a learned person as Hua T‘o you will only die in prison like him. What good did it all do him?”
It struck Wu that there was something in what she said, and he ceased grumbling at her. But the upshot of all this was that the learning in the “Treatise of the Black Bag” was finally lost to the world, for what was left only contained a few recipes relating to domestic animals.
Hua T‘o was the ablest of leeches Like Chang Sung, who overtopped all, He saw what diseases were lurking Within a man’s outermost wall. Alas! that he died, and his writings Passed beyond any man’s ken, With the famous Black Bag that contained them, For he was a healer of men.
Meanwhile, Ts‘ao Ts‘ao became worse, the uncertainty of the intentions of his rivals aggravating his disease not a little. Then they said an envoy had come with letters from Wu, the gist of which was satisfactory, as it ran like this:—
“Thy servant, Sun Ch'üan, has long seen whom destiny indicates as master of all, and looks forward with confidence to his early accession to the dignity. If he will send his armies to destroy Liu Pei and sweep rebellion from the west, his servant at the head of his armies will submit and accept his land as a fief.”
Ts‘ao Ts‘ao laughed as he read this, and he said to his officers, “Is this youth trying to put me on a furnace?”
But his attendants seriously replied, “O Prince, the Hans have been feeble too long, while your virtues and merits are like the mountains. All the people look to you, and when Sun Ch'üan acknowledges himself as your minister he is but responsive to the will of God and the desire of men. It is wrong that you oppose when such contrary influences work to a common end, and you must soon ascend to the high place.”
Ts‘ao Ts‘ao smiled. “I have served the Hans for many years; and if I have acquired some merit, yet I have been rewarded with a princedom and high rank. I dare not aspire to greater things. If the finger of heaven points to me, then shall I be as Wên Wang of Chou.”
“As Sun Ch'üan acknowledges himself your servant and promises obedience, you, my lord, can confer a title upon him and assign to him the duty of attacking Liu Pei,” said Ssŭma I.
Approving of the suggestion, Ts‘ao Ts‘ao gave Sun Ch'üan the title of “P‘iao-ch‘i, General of Cavalry, and Marquis of ​Nanch‘ang,” and appointed him to the governorship of Ching-chou. Forthwith this command was sent away to Sun Ch'üan.
Ts‘ao Ts‘ao’s condition grew worse daily. One night he had a dream of three horses feeding out of the same manger. Next day he told it to Chia Hsü, adding that he thought it betokened some evil through the Ma family. How did he interpret the dream?
“It is auspicious to dream of lu (pay) and ma (horses),” replied Chia Hsü. “And naturally such things come to the ts‘ao (a manger, eating place). I do not think you need feel any misgivings.”
Ts‘ao Ts‘ao was comforted.
Ts‘ao dreamed three steeds together fed, The vision seers could not explain, None guessed how soon, when Ts‘ao was dead, One dynasty would rule again. Ah, yes; Ts‘ao Ts‘ao had vainly wrought; Of none avail each wicked wile, For, later, in Wei court, there fought Against him one with equal guile.
That night Ts‘ao Ts‘ao became worse. As he lay on his couch he felt dizzy and could not see, so he rose and sat by a table, upon which he leaned. It seemed to him that someone shrieked, and, peering into the darkness, he perceived the forms of many of his victims. And all were bloodstained. They stood in the obscurity and whispered, demanding his life. He rose, lifted his sword and threw it wildly into the air. Just then there was a loud crash, and the south-west corner of the new building came down. And Ts‘ao Ts‘ao fell with it. His attendants raised him and bore him to another palace, where he might lie at peace.
But he found no peace. The next night was disturbed by the ceaseless wailing of women’s voices. When day dawned, Ts‘ao sent for his officers, and said to them:
“Thirty years have I spent in the turmoil of war and have always refused belief in the supernatural. But what does all this mean?”
“O Prince, you should summon the Taoists to offer sacrifices and prayers,” said they.
Ts‘ao Ts‘ao sighed. “The wise man said, 'He who offends against heaven has no one to pray to.' I feel that my fate is accomplished, my days have run and there is no help.”
But he would not consent to call in the priests. Next day his symptoms were worse. He was panting and could no longer see distinctly. He sent hastily for Hsiahou Tun, who came at once. But as he drew near the doors he too saw the shadowy forms of the slain Empress and her children and many other victims of Ts‘ao Ts‘ao’s cruelty. He was overcome with fear and fell to the ground. The servants raised him and led him away, very ill.
​Then Ts‘ao called in four of his trusty advisers, Ts‘ao Hung, Ch'ên Chün. Chia Hsü and Ssŭma I, that they might hear his last wishes. Ts‘ao Hung, speaking for the four, said, “Take good care of your precious self, O Prince, that you may quickly recover. ”
But Ts‘ao Ts‘ao said, “Thirty and more years have I gone up and down, and many a bold man has fallen before me. The only ones that remain are Sun Ch'üan and Liu Pei. I have not yet slain them. Now I am very ill, and I shall never again stand before you; wherefore my family affairs must be settled. My first born fell in battle, when he was young. The Lady P‘ien bore four sons to me, as you know. The third, Chih, was my favourite, but he was vain and unreliable, fond of wine and lax in morals. Therefore he is not my heir. My second son, Chang, is valiant, but imprudent. The fourth is weakly and may not live long. My eldest, P‘ei, is steady and serious; he is fit to succeed me, and I look to you to support him.”
Ts‘ao Hung and the others wept as they heard these words, and they left the chamber. Then Ts‘ao Ts‘ao bade his servants bring some of the Tibetan incense that he burned every day, and he handed out sticks to his handmaids. And he said to them, “After my death you must diligently attend to your womanly labours. You can make silken shoes for sale, and so earn your own living.”
He also bade them go on living in the Bronze Bird Pavilion and celebrate a daily sacrifice for him, with music by the singing women, and presentation of the eatables laid before his tablet.
Next he commanded that seventy-two sites for a tomb should be selected near Wuch'êng in the Changtê Prefecture, that no one should know his actual burying place, lest his remains should be digged up.
And when these final orders had been given he sighed a few times shed some tears and died. He was sixty-six, and passed away in the first month of the twenty-fifth year (2I0 a d.).
A certain poet composed a song on Yehch'êng expressing sympathy for Ts‘ao Ts‘ao, which is given here:—
I stood in Yeh and saw the River Chang Go gliding by. Methought no common man E‘er rose from such a place. Or he was great In war, a poet, or an artist skilled. Perchance a model minister, or son, Or famous for fraternal duty shown. The thoughts of heroes are not ours to judge, Nor are their actions for our eyes to see. A man may stand the first in merit; then His crimes may brand him chief of criminals. And so his reputation’s fair and foul; His literary gifts may bear the mark Of genius; he may be a ruler born;
But this is certain; he will stand above His fellows, herding not with common men. Takes he the field, then is he bold in fight; Would he a mansion build, a palace springs. In all things great, his genius masters him. And such was Ts‘ao Ts‘ao. He could never be Obedient; he a rebel was, foredoomed. He seized and ruled, but hungered for more power; Became a prince, and still was not content. And yet this man of glorious career When gripped by sickness, wept as might a child. Full well he knew, when on the bed of death, That all is vanity and nothing worth. His latest acts were kindly. Simple gifts Of fragrant incense gave he to the maids. Ah me! The ancients' splendid deeds or secret thoughts We may not measure with our puny rule. But criticise them, pedants, as ye may The mighty dead will smile at what you say.
As Ts‘ao Ts‘ao breathed his last the whole of those present raised a great wailing and lamentation. The news was sent to the members of the family, the heir, Ts‘ao Pei, the Marquis of Yenling, Ts‘ao Chang, the Marquis of Lintzů, Ts‘ao Chih, and the Marquis of Hsiaohuai, Ts‘ao Hsiung. They wrapped the body in its shroud, enclosed it in a silver shell and laid it in a golden coffin, which was sent at once home to Yehchün.
The eldest son wept aloud at the tidings and went out with all his following to meet the procession and escort the body of his father into his home. The coffin was laid in a great hall beside the main building, and all the officials in deep mourning wailed in the hall.
Suddenly one stood out from the ranks of the mourners and said, “I would request the heir to cease lamentation for the dead and devote himself to the present needs of state.”
It was Ssŭma Fu, and he continued, “The death of the prince will cause an upheaval in the empire, and it is essential that the heir should assume his dignity without loss of time. There is not mourning alone to be seen to.”
The others replied. “The succession is settled, but the investiture can hardly proceed without the necessary edict. That must be secured.”
Said Ch'ên Chiao, who was President of the Board of War, “As the prince died away from home it may be that his favourite son will presume to succeed, and dangerous disputes will ensue.”
He slashed off the sleeves of his robe with a sword and shouted fiercely, “We will invest the prince forthwith, and any who do not agree let him be treated as this robe.”
Still fear held most of the assembly. Then arrived Hua Hsin post haste from the capital. They wondered what his sudden arrival meant. Soon he entered the hall and said, ​“The Prince of Wei is dead and the world is in commotion; why do you not invest his successor quickly?”
“We await the command,” cried they in chorus, “and also the princess-consort’s order concerning the heirship.”
“I have procured the Imperial edict here,” cried he, pulling it out from his breast.
They all began to congratulate him. And he read the edict.
Hua Hsin had always been devoted to Wei, and so he drafted this edict and got it sealed by the Emperor Hsien almost by force. However, there it was; and therein Ts‘ao P‘ei was named as “Prince of Wei, First Minister of State and Governor of Ichou.”
Ts‘ao P‘ei thereupon took his seat in the princely place and received the congratulations of all the officers. This was followed by a banquet.
However, all was not to pass too smoothly. While the banquet was in progress the news came that Ts‘ao Chang, with an army of ten legions, was approaching.
In a state of consternation the new prince turned to his courtiers, saying “What shall I do? This young brother of mine, always obstinate and determined and with no little military skill, is marching hither with an army to contest my inheritance.' ”
“Let me go to see the marquis; I can make him desist,” said one of the guests.
The others cried, “Only yourself, O Exalted One, can save us in this peril!”
Quarrel 'tween two sons of Ts‘ao Just as in the House of Shao.
If you would know who proposed himself as envoy, read the next chapter.