# San Kuo/Volume 2/Chapter 61

CHAPTER LXI.
Rescue of O-tou by Chao Yün; Ts‘ao Ts‘ao Repulsed by a Letter.
In spite of the persuasion of P‘ang T‘ung and Fa Chêng, Liu Pei steadily refused to sanction the assassination of his host, even if thereby he was to gain possession of the land of Shu.
The next day there was another banquet, this time in the city, whereat host and guest unbosomed themselves freely to each other and became exceedingly friendly and affectionate. All were mellow with wine, and P‘ang T‘ung, talking with Fa Chêng said, “Since our master will have nothing to do with our scheme we had better set Wei Yen’s sword-play to work and take advantage of the confusion to kill Liu Chang.”
Wei Yen came in shortly afterward, with his sword drawn, and said, “There being no other distraction at this banquet, may I show you a little fencing to amuse you?”
Thereupon P‘ang T‘ung called up some of the armed men and ranged them along the lower part of the hall till Wei should fall on. At these preparations the officers of Liu Chang stared with questioning eyes toward the chief seats at the upper end, and one of them, Chang Jên, drew his sword, saying, An opponent is needed to make fencing a succees, so he and I will display our skill at the same time.”
So they began. Presently, at a glance from Wei Yen, Liu Fêng came up and took position at his side. At once three of the officers of Shu followed suit, saying, “And we three will come in too; it may add to your amusement and help to raise a laugh.”
But to Liu Pei matters began to take on a serious look. Drawing the two swords he wore, one on the right side and the other on the left, he stood out in the banquet hall and cried, “We brothers have perhaps honoured our meeting with a little too much wine; there is nothing to say against that, but this is no Hung-mên Gathering, where murder was done. Put up your swords or I will slay you!”
“Why wear swords at all at a meeting of two brothers?” cried Liu Chang, at the same time telling his servants to surround his officers and take away their weapons.
Disarmed, they sulkily withdrew, and then Liu Pei called all the captains to the upper end of the banquet hall, gave them wine and said, You need have no doubts; we two ​brothers, of the same bone and blood, have talked over the great design and we are one in purpose.”
The officers bowed and retired. Liu Chang took his guest by the hand, saying, “Brother, I shall never forget your kindness.”
They sat drinking till late, both feeling very happy. When at length Liu Pei reached his camp he blamed his strategist for having caused the confusion.
“Why did you endeavour to force me into committing a great wrong?” said Liu. “There must be no repetition of this.”
P‘ang T‘ung retired, sighing. When Liu Chang reached his own camp his captains waited on him and said, “Sir, you saw the real meaning of that occurrence at the banquet, we suppose. We think it prudent for you to retire at once into the city. ”
“My brother is different from ordinary men,” replied Liu Chang.
“He may not incline toward murder himself, but those about him have but one desire—that is to exploit this land of ours to their own advantage."”
“Do not try to sow dissension between us and make us quarrel,” said their chief.
And he took no heed of their remonstrance. One day, when he and Liu Pei were enjoying together relaxation from cares of state, the news came that Chang Lu was about to invade Shu at the Chiaming Pass. Thereupon the Prefect begged Liu Pei to go and defend it. He consented and left immediately with his own especial band. At once Liu Chang’s officers took advantage of the guest’s departure to urge the Prefect to place his own trusty men in command at various strategic points, so as to guard against any attempts of the visitors to seize the land. At first Liu Chang was unwilling and refused, but as they prayed him most earnestly to do this he yielded and consented to take some steps to safeguard himself. He sent Yang Huai, the commander at Paishui, and Kao P‘ei to garrison Foushui Pass.
So Liu Chang returned to Ch'êngtu and his guest, Liu Pei, went away to the point where invasion threatened. Arrived there, he soon won the hearts of the people by the strict discipline he maintained over his men and by his gracious manner.
News of these doings in Shu duly reached Wu, and the Marquis summoned his counsellors as to his countermove. Then Ku Yung spoke, saying, “I have an infallible plan to propose. Liu Pei and his army are now far away and separated from us by difficult country. Therefore he cannot return quickly, and my advice is to occupy the passes so that he cannot get through. Then send all your force against Chingchou and Hsiangyang and they will surely fall to you.”
​ “The plan seems excellent,” said Sun Ch'üan.
But just then a voice was heard from behind the screen crying, “You may just put to death the man who proposed that scheme for trying to compass the death of my daughter.”
Every one started with surprise. It was the Dowager’s voice. Further, she looked very angry as she entered, saying, “What is to become of my only daughter, who is the wife of Liu Pei?”
She turned her wrathful eyes to Sun and said, “You were heir to your father and brother and obtained possession of all this district without the least effort. Yet you are dissatisfied, and would forget the claims of your own flesh and blood and sacrifice my daughter for the sake of adding a little to your lands.”
“No, no!” murmured Sun, ashamed. “I would never think of going contrary to my mother’s wishes and orders.”
He abruptly dismissed the assembly, and when they had gone the old lady, still nursing her wrath, retired to her own apartments.
Left alone beneath the portico, Sun Ch'üan sighed sadly. “This chance missed! When will those provinces be mine?” thought he.
While still deep in reverie, Chang came up, saying, “What grieves my lord?”
“No great matter; only this last failure to gain my ends.”
“The difficulty may be easily removed,” said Chang. “Choose some trusty man and charge him with a secret letter to the Princess saying that her mother is dangerously ill. Give him a half company as escort and tell him to make his way privily into Chingchou and deliver the letter. Hearing her mother wants her she will rush home at once, and she might bring with her the only son of Yüan-tê. He will be glad enough to exchange Chingchou for his son. If he will not, you can still send the army.”
“That sounds like a good plan,” said Sun. “Further, I have the man to carry it out successfully. He is that Chou Shan, who was a burglar when he was younger and a bold one. He used to accompany my brother. He is the man to go.”
“Keep it a secret, then,” said Chang, “and let him start quickly.”
It was decided that Chou Shan should take with him about half a company of soldiers disguised as ordinary traders. He had five vessels and distributed his men among them, while weapons were hidden in the holds. A letter was forged to look like a veritable letter from the court of Wu.
Chou Shan set out along the river route for Chingchou and was not long on the way. He anchored his ships under the bank, landed and went into the city to the residence, where he bade the doorkeepers announce him. He was admitted ​and led into the presence of the Lady Sun and presently gave her the secret letter. When she read that her mother was in danger of death she began to weep bitterly and questioned the messenger closely. Chou invented a long story that the Dowager was really fretting for a sight of her daughter and if she did not go quickly it would be too late. He added that she was to take little O-tou with her that her mother might see him once before she died.
The Lady Sun replied, “You know that the Imperial Uncle is far away on military service and I ought to inform the chief of the army before returning home.”
“But what will you do if he says he must inform your husband and await his consent?” said Chou.
“If I went without asking permission—but I fear that is impossible.”
“My ships are all ready in the river and you have only to drive through the city,” said Chou.
Naturally the news of her mother’s illness greatly disturbed the young wife. In a short time her carriage was ready and she mounted, taking O-tou with her. She took an escort of thirty men, all armed, and was soon at the river side and had embarked before the palace people could report what she was doing. But just as the ships were starting, a voice was heard, shouting, “Do not start yet; let me bid my lady farewell.”
The voice was Chao Yün’s; he had just returned from an inspection trip and they had at once told him of Lady Sun’s sudden departure. As soon as he had recovered from his surprise he dashed down to the river bank like a whirlwind, with only half a dozen followers. He arrived only just in time; the boat was starting and Chou Shan stood in the prow, a long spear in his hand.
“Who are you that you dare hinder the movements of your mistress?” cried Chou.
Chou bade his men cast off and get under way, and also to prepare their weapons to fight. The ship moved off with a fair wind and a strong current beneath her keel.
But Chao Yün followed along the bank. “My lady may go or not as she pleases,” cried he, “but I have one word to say to her.”
Chou Shan turned a deaf ear and only urged his men to get greater speed on the ship. Chao Yün followed down the bank for some ten or more li. Then he saw a fishing boat made fast to the bank. He at once dismounted, cast off the rope, took his spear and leaped into the boat. Then he made the two men row him toward the vessel in which sat Lady Sun. As he approached, the men of Wu threatened him with their spears. Thereupon he threw his spear into the bottom of the boat, drew the glittering steel blade he wore, dashed aside the opposing spears and leaped upon the larger vessel. The men ​of Wu fell back in surprise and fear, and Chao went down into the body of the ship. There sat the Lady Sun with little O-tou in her arms.
“Why this rude intrusion?” said she angrily.
The warrior sheathed his sword and said humbly, “Whither may my mistress be going, and why goes she privily?”
“My mother is ill and on the point of death; I had no time to inform any person of my departure,” said the Lady Sun.
“But why take the young master if you are going merely to see a sick person?” said Chao.
“O-tou is my son and I would not leave him behind to be neglected.”
“Mistress, you have acted wrongly. My lord has but this one son of his body and I rescued him from among many legions in the great battle at Ch‘angpan Slope. There is no reason for you to take him away.”
The Lady Sun took refuge in anger. “You leave my family affairs alone, you common soldier,” cried she.
“My lady, if you will go, then go, but leave the young master behind.”
“You are a rebel, jumping on board the ship like that!” shrieked the Lady Sun.
“If you will not leave the young lord behind I refuse to let you go, come what may,” said Chao.
The Lady Sun called in her maids to seize him, but he just pushed them off. Then he took the boy from her arms and ran out to the prow of the ship. He tried to get the vessel in to the bank, but no one would aid him, and he thought it would be wrong to begin to slay indiscriminately. He knew not what to do in such a quandary. And the Lady Sun was screaming to her maids to take the boy away from Chao. But he kept too firm a grip on the child, and the good sword in his other hand kept every one at bay.
Chou Shan was at the helm, giving all his attention to getting the ship out into the current and away down the river. He steered for the middle of the stream, where the wind was strong. Chao Yün, one hand taken up with holding the boy, was quite unable to get the vessel in toward the shore.
Just as things looked most desperate, Chao saw a string of ships filing out from a creek lower down the stream, flags fluttering and drums beating. He thought that certainly all was over and he was about to fall a victim to a stratagem of Wu, when he noticed a mighty warrior standing in the prow of the leading craft. He was armed with a long spear, and it was Chang Fei. He also shouted to his sister-in-law to leave the child.
Chang Fei had been out scouting when he heard the news of his sister-in-law’s sudden departure, and he at once made for the Yu River with the intention of intercepting her flight. ​He had arrived just in the nick of time to cut off the ships of Wu. Very soon, sword in hand, he had boarded the vessel. As he came on board Chou drew his sword and advanced toward him, but one sweep of Chang’s blade laid him on the deck dead. And the grim warrior flung his head at the feet of the Lady Sun.
“Why this very unseemly behaviour?” cried the Lady Sun, now quite frightened.
“Sister,” said Chang, “you thought very little of my brother when you set out on this mad journey. That was behaving rudely.”
“My mother is very ill; it is a matter of life and death,” cried she. “If I had waited for your brother’s permission to go I should have been too late. If you do not let me go now I will throw myself into the river.”
The two soldiers took counsel together. It was hardly the correct thing for servants to force their lord’s wife into committing suicide. Suppose they kept the child and let the vessel go.
Then they said, “O Lady, we cannot allow the wife of our exalted brother to die a death of shame and so we will take our leave. We trust you will not forget our brother and that you will return quickly.”
Taking the child with them they left the vessel, and the five ships of Wu continued their voyage down stream. One poet has praised the conduct of Chao Yün:—
Some years before, Chao saved O-tou, What time his mother died; Again like service he performs, Upon the Yangtse’s tide. The men of Wu all in the ship, Were stricken down with fear, Search all the world, you never find Of bold Chao Yün the peer.
Another has eulogised Chang Fei:—
At Long Slope Bridge, With rage Fei boiled, Like wild beast roared, And men recoiled. From danger now His prince is saved. On history’s page His name is graved.
Quite satisfied with their success the two warriors sailed homeward. Before they had gone far they met K‘ung-ming with a squadron of ships. He was very pleased to find they had recovered the child and they three joyfully returned to Chingchou, whence an account of the whole adventure was written to Liu Pei.
​When the Lady Sun reached her home she related the story of the death of Chou Shan and the carrying off of the child. Naturally Sun Ch'üan was very wrath at the miscarriage of his scheme and he resolved to attack Chingchou in revenge for his messenger’s murder.
“Now that my sister has returned home there is no longer any family tie to prevent the attack, and I will take full measure of revenge for the death of my henchman,” said Sun. So he called the council to consider the expedition.
But before they could decide upon any plan their deliberations were suddenly cut short by the news that Ts‘ao Ts‘ao was coming down upon the south with forty legions, burning to avenge his defeat at Ch‘ihpi (Red Wall). All thoughts now turned toward repelling his attack.
The Recorder Chang Hung, who had retired to his home ill, had just died and his testament was sent to his lord to read. Therein he advised Sun Ch'üan to remove the seat of government to Moling, where the scenery seemed to bear the impress of kingly dignity, befitting a man who cherished the ambition of founding an enduring dynasty. Sun read this document out to his councillors at this meeting, not without some tears in memory of the writer. He told them he could not withstand such advice, and he at once gave orders to surround with a wall the city which he intended henceforth to make his capital.
As a protection against Ts‘ao the Admiral Lu Mêng proposed building a rampart at Port Juhsü. Some other officers opposed this, saying, “When the enemy appears you will have to land in order to attack him, and after that you will return to your ships. What is the use of a rampart?”
Lü Mêng replied, “One must prepare against possibilities. Soldiers vary in keenness and sometimes lose battles. If an urgent occasion arises the men may be unable to reach the water’s edge, and how then are they to embark? They will then need shelter.”
Sun Ch‘üan said, “Provision against eventualities, such as he proposes, is good. Against a distant risk provide, and sorrow walks not by your side.”
So they sent many legions of men to build ramparts at Juhsü, and as the work ceased not day or night the wall was soon completed.
In the capital Ts‘ao Ts‘ao’s influence and glory waxed daily greater. Tung Chao proposed that the title of Kung (Duke) should be conferred upon him. He said, “In all history no one has rendered such services as you have, O Minister, not even Duke Chou or Lü Wang. These thirty years you have exposed yourself to all risks, been 'combed by the wind and bathed by the rain' and you have swept evil from the land, succoured the distressed and restored the Hans. Who of all statesmen can rank with you? It would be fitting for you to become the ​Duke of Wei and receive the Nine Gifts, that your merit and virtue be known to all.”
Now the Nine Gifts, or signs of honour, were:—
Chariots and Horses (gilt chariots and war chariots drawn by eight horses); Court Dress; Music at Banquets, etc.; Red Doors; Steps to the Daïs; Guards (300 at the gates); Axes; Bow and Arrows (red-lacquered bow with 100 arrows); Libation Vessels.
However, all the courtiers were not of one mind. Said Hsün Yü, “This should not be done, O Minister. You raised a force by an appeal to the innate sense of righteousness of the people, and with that force you restored the Han authority. Now you should remain loyal and humble. The virtuous man loves men with a virtuous love and would not act in this way.
Ts‘ao Ts‘ao did not take this opposition kindly. Tung Chao said, “How can we disappoint the hopes of many because of the words of one?”
So a memorial went to the Throne and Ts‘ao’s ambitions and desires were gratified with the title of Duke of Wei. The Nine Gifts were added.
“I did not think to see this day,” said Hsün, sighing.
This remark was repeated to the newly created Duke and angered him. He took it to mean that Hsün Yü would no longer aid him or favour his designs.
In the winter of the seventeenth year, Ts‘ao decided to send an army to conquer Wu, and he ordered Hsün Yü to go with it. Hsün Yü understood from this that Ts‘ao wished his death, so he declined the appointment on the plea of illness. While he was at home he received one day a box such as one sent with presents of dainties. It was addressed in Ts‘ao’s own handwriting. Opening it he found therein nothing. He understood; he took poison and died. He was fifty-two years of age.
Wên-jo’s talents were to all men known, 'Twas sad that at the door of power he tripped. Posterity is wrong to class him with the noble Liu, For, nearing death, he dared not face his lord of Han.
News of his death came to Ts‘ao in the form of the ordinary letter of mourning. Then he was sorry and gave orders for an imposing funeral. He also obtained for the dead man the posthumous title of Marquis.
The northern army reached Juhsü, whence he sent a reconnaisance of three legions down to the river. On the river he saw displayed a fleet of ships all arranged in admirable order, ​the divisions being marked by distinctive flags. The equipment glittered in the sunlight. In the centre was a large ship whereon was a huge umbrella, and beneath the shade sat Sun Ch'üan in the midst of his staff.
“That is the sort of son to have;” said Ts‘ao in admiration, “not such piglets and puppies as Liu Piao’s.”
Suddenly, at the explosion of a bomb, the ships got under way and came flying toward him, while a force moved out of Juhsü. Ts‘ao’s men at once retired in great haste. A company led by the grey-eyed, red-bearded Sun Ch'üan made straight for Ts‘ao, who hastily retreated. But he was sore pressed by other captains and it had gone hard with him but that Hsu Chu came to his rescue and fought with the men of Wu till his master could escape. Hsü Chu fought some score bouts before he could draw off and return to his own side.
When Ts‘ao returned to camp he conferred rich rewards upon his henchman who had saved him and he reprimanded his other captains for their too hasty retirement. “You blunt the keen spirits of the men, and if you do such a thing again I will put you to death,” said he.
About midnight that night there arose great commotion at the gates of the camp, and when Ts‘ao went outside he found that the enemy had crept up secretly and started a conflagration. They forced their way into the stockade and went hither and thither, slaying till morning broke. Then Ts‘ao and his army retired.
Ts‘ao Ts‘ao was greatly distressed by this misfortune. He was sitting in his tent poring over the Book of War when Ch'êng Yü came in to see him.
“O Minister,” said Ch'êng, “you who know so thoroughly the art of war, have you forgotten the maxim to strike quickly? You had your army ready, but you postponed action and allowed your enemies to build them ramparts at Juhsü. Now you will find it hard to capture the place. It would be better now to retreat on the capital and await a more propitious moment.”
Ts‘ao listened, but said nothing; after a time Ch'êng went away. Ts‘ao remained seated in his tent, leaning on a small table by his side. And he fell asleep. Suddenly he heard a sound as of a rushing stream or galloping squadrons of horse, and out of the river in front of him arose a huge red sun, so bright that his eyes were dazzled by it. Looking up at the sky he saw two other suns as if reflections of this one. And as he wondered the first sun suddenly flew up and then dropped among the hills in front of his camp with a roar like thunder.
This woke him. He was in his tent and had been dreaming, and the sentry at his tent door was just reporting noon.
Soon he had his horse saddled and rode out, with a small escort, toward the spot he had seen in his dream. As he stood ​gazing around him a troop of horse came along with Sun Ch'üan at their head. He wore a glittering helmet and was clad in silver armour. Seeing his chief enemy he showed no sign of haste or dismay, but reined in his steed on a rise and, pointing with his whip at Ts‘ao, said, “Behold the all-powerful Minister who holds the capital in the hollow of his hand. He has reached the acme of wealth and good fortune and yet he is not content, but must needs come to encroach upon our southern country.”
Ts‘ao replied, “You are disobedient, and the command of the Emperor is to exterminate you.”
“What words!” cried Sun with a laugh. “Are you not ashamed? Every one knows that you control every act of the Emperor and you tyrannise over the nobles. I am no rebel against the dynasty, but I do desire to capture you and reform the government.”
Ts‘ao grew angry at this speech and bade his captains go over and take Sun prisoner. But before they could obey, two troops of soldiers marched out to the sound of beating drums, and arrows and crossbow bolts began to fall like raindrops around Ts‘ao Ts‘ao. He turned to retire, and the archers and bowmen followed him. However, presently appeared Hsü Chu, with the Tiger Guard, who rescued Ts‘ao and took him back to his camp. The men of Wu had scored a victory and they marched back to Juhsü.
Alone in his camp, Ts‘ao thought, “This Sun Ch'üan certainly is no ordinary man, and by the presage of the sun in my dream he will become an emperor.”
He began to think it would be well to retire from the expedition, only that he feared the men of Wu would exult over him. So the two armies remained facing each other a whole month, fighting occasional skirmishes and battles in which victory fell sometimes to the one and sometimes to the other.
And so it went on till the new year and the spring rains filled the watercourses to overflowing and the soldiers were wading in deep mud. Their sufferings were extreme and Ts‘ao became sad at heart. At the council board his officers were divided, some being for retirement and others anxious to hold on till the warm weather. Their chief could not make up his mind.
Then there came a messenger from Wu bearing a letter, which read: “You and I, O Minister, are both servants of Han, but you are careless for the tranquillity of the people and think only of battle, thereby causing great suffering. Is this conduct worthy of a kindly man?
“But spring with its heavy rains is at hand and you would be wise to retire while you can. If not, you may expect a repetition of the misfortune at Red Wall. It would be well to consider this.”
​And on the back of the letter was a note in two lines running thus: “No tranquillity for me while you live.”
Ts‘ao read the letter and laughed. “Chung-mou, you cannot beguile me!” said he.
He rewarded the messenger and issued orders to retreat. The Prefect of Luchiang was left to guard Huanch'êng; the army marched for the capital.
Sun Ch'üan returned to Moling. At a meeting of his advisers he said, “Ts‘ao Ts‘ao has marched north, Liu Pei is at Chiaming: why should I not lead the army that has just repulsed the northern men to take Chingchou?”
Thereupon Chang Chao offered another plan saying, “Do not move a man; I know how to keep Liu Pei from returning to Chingchou.”
Mêng-te’s army march away, Chung-mou’s thoughts then southward stray.
The scheme proposed by Chang will be unfolded in the next chapter.