CHAPTER XX.
Ts‘ao A-man Organises a Hunting Expedition:
Tung, “State Uncle,” Receives a Command in the Palace.
The last chapter said that Ts‘ao Ts‘ao was checked in his angry attack upon Chang Liao. It was Liu Pei who held his arm and Kuan Yün-ch‘ang who knelt before him.
“A man as generous-hearted as he is should be saved,” said Liu.
Kuan said, “I know him well as loyal and righteous. I will vouch for him with my own life.”
Ts‘ao threw aside his sword. “I also know Wên-yüan to be loyal and good; I was just testing him,” said he.
He loosed the prisoner’s bonds with his own hands, had a change of dress brought in and clothed him therewith. Then he was led to a seat of honour. This kindly treatment sank deep into Chang’s heart and he hastened to declare formally that he yielded. And then he was given a rank and the title of marquis. He was sent on a mission to win over Tsang Pa, who hearing what had happened, came forthwith and gave in his submission. He was graciously received and his former colleagues also yielded, with the exception of Chang Hsi, who remained obdurate. All these former enemies who came over were kindly treated and given posts of responsibility wherein they might prove the reality of their conversion. Lü Pu’s family were sent to the capital.
After the soldiers had been rewarded with feastings the camp was broken up and the army moved away to Hsütu. Passing through Hsüchou the people lined the roads and burned incense in honour of the victors. They also petitioned that Liu Pei should be their governor.
Ts‘ao Ts‘ao replied, “Liu Shih-chün has rendered great services. You must wait till he has been received in audience and obtained his reward. After that he shall be sent here.”
Ch‘ê Chou, a General of Cavalry, was given command of Hsüchou for the moment. After the army had arrived at the capital rewards were granted to all the officers who had been in the expedition. Liu Yüan-tê was retained in the capital, lodging in an annexe to the Minister’s palace. Soon after a Court was held and Ts‘ao Ts‘ao represented the services of Yüan-tê who was presented to the Emperor Hsien. Dressed in Court robes he bowed at the lower end of the audience arena. The Emperor called him to the Hall and asked his ancestry.
Liu Pei replied, “Thy servant is the son of Liu Hung, grandson of Liu Hsiung, who was a direct descendant of Prince Ching of Chungshan, who was the great-great-grandson of His Majesty the Emperor Ching (about 150 B.C.)”
The Emperor bade them bring forth the Books of the Genealogies and therefrom a secretary read: “The filial Emperor Ching begat fourteen sons of whom the seventh was Liu Shông, Prince Ching of Chungshan. Shêng begat Chên, Marquis (T‘ing-hou) of Luch‘êng; Chên begat Ang, Marquis P‘ei; Ang begat Lu, Marquis Chang; Lu begat Lien, Marquis of Ishui; Lien begat Ying, Marquis of Ch‘inyang; Ying begat Chien, Marquis Ankuo; Chien begat Ai, Marquis Kuanglu; Ai begat Hsien, Marquis of Chiaoshui; Hsien begat Hsü, Marquis of Tsuyi; Hsü begat I, Marquis of Ch‘iyang; I begat Pi, Marquis of Yüantsê; Pi begat Ta, Marquis of Yingch‘uan; Ta begat Pu-i, Marquis of Fêngling; Pu-i begat Hui, Marquis of Chichʻuan; Hui begat Hsiung, Governor of the Eastern Districts; Hsiung begat Hung, who held no office or rank and Liu Pei is his son.”
The Emperor compared this with the registers of the Imperial House and found by them that Liu Pei was his uncle by descent. He seemed greatly pleased and requested Liu Pei to go into one of the side chambers where he might perform the ceremonial obeisance prescribed for a nephew to his uncle. In his heart he rejoiced to have this heroic warrior-uncle as a powerful supporter against Ts‘ao Ts‘ao who really held all the power in his own hands. The Emperor knew himself to be a mere puppet. He conferred upon his uncle, the rank of General and the title of Marquis of Ich‘êng.
When the banquet was concluded Yüan-tê thanked the Emperor and went out of the palace. And from this time he was very generally styled Liu, “Uncle of the Emperor.”
When Ts‘ao Ts‘ao returned to his palace Hsün Yü and his fellow advisers went in to see him. Hsün Yü said, “It is no advantage to you, Illustrious Sir, that the Emperor recognises Liu as an uncle.”
“He may be recognised as uncle, but he is under my orders since I control the decrees of the throne. He will be all the more ready to obey. Beside I will keep him here under the pretence of having him near his sovereign and he will be entirely in my hands. I have nothing to fear. The man I fear is Yang Piao, who is a relative of the two Yüans. Should Yang conspire with them he is an enemy within and might do much harm. He will have to be removed.”
Hence Ts‘ao sent a secret emissary to say that Yang Piao was intriguing with Yüan Shu and on this charge Piao was arrested and imprisoned. And his death would have been compassed had his enemy dared.
But just then the Prefect of Pohai, K‘ung Jung, was at the capital and he remonstrated with Ts‘ao Ts‘ao saying, “Yang comes from a family famed for virtue for at least four generations; you cannot trump up so foolish a charge as that against him.”
“It is the Court,” retorted Ts‘ao.
“If Prince Ch‘êng had put Duke Chao to death, could Duke Chou have pretended ignorance?”
So Ts‘ao had to relinquish the attempt, but he took away Yang’s offices and banished him to his family estate in the country.
A certain Chao Yen, a minor official but an opponent of the Minister, sent up a memorial impeaching Ts‘ao for having removed a Minister of State from office without a decree. Ts‘ao’s reply to this was the arrest of Chao and his execution, a bold stroke which terrified the bulk of officers and reduced them to silence.
Ch‘êng Yü advised Ts‘ao to assume a more definite position. He said, “Illustrious Sir, your prestige grows daily; why not seize the opportunity to take the position of Chief of the Feudatory Princes?”
“There are still too many supporters of the Court,” was the reply. “I must be careful. I am going to propose a royal hunt to try to find out the best line to follow.”
This expedition being decided upon they got together fleet horses, famous falcons and pedigree hounds, and prepared bows and arrows in readiness. They mustered a strong force of guards outside the city.
When the Minister proposed the hunting expedition the Emperor said he feared it was an improper thing to do.
Ts‘ao replied, “In ancient times rulers made four expeditions yearly at each of the four seasons in order to show their strength. They were called Sou, Miao, Hsien and Shou, in the order of the seasons. Now that the whole country is in confusion it would be wise to inaugurate a hunt in order to train the army. I am sure Your Majesty will approve.”
So the Emperor with the full paraphernalia for an Imperial hunt joined the expedition. He rode a saddle horse, carried an inlaid bow, and his quiver was filled with gold-tipped arrows. His chariot followed behind. The three brothers were in the Imperial train, each with his bow and quiver. Each wore a breastplate under the outer robe and held his especial weapon, while their escort followed them. Ts‘ao Ts‘ao rode a dun horse called “Flying Lightning” and the army was ten legions strong.
The hunt took place in Hsütʻien and the legions spread out as guards round the hunting arena which extended over some two hundred square li. Ts‘ao Ts‘ao rode even with the Emperor, the horses’ heads alternating in the lead. The imperial suite immediately following were all in Ts‘ao’s confidence. The other officers, civil and military, lagged behind, for who dared press forward into the midst of Ts‘ao’s partizans?
One day the Emperor was riding near Hsüt‘ien and noticed his newly found uncle repectfully standing by the roadside.
“I should like to see my uncle display his hunting skill,” said the Emperor.
Liu Pei mounted his steed at once. Just then a hare started from its form; Yüan-tê shot and hit it with the first arrow.
The Emperor, much struck by this display, rode away over a slope. Suddenly a deer broke out of the thicket. He shot three arrows at it but all missed.
“You try,” said the Emperor turning to Ts‘ao.
“Lend me Your Majesty’s bow,” he replied, and taking the inlaid bow and the golden-barbed arrows he pulled the bow and hit the deer in the shoulder at the first shot. It fell in the grass and could not run.
Now the crowd of officers seeing the golden-barbed arrow sticking in the wound concluded at once that the shot was the Emperor’s, so they rushed up and shouted “Wansui! O King, live for ever!” Ts‘ao Ts‘ao rode out pushing past the Emperor and acknowledged the congratulations.
They all turned pale. What did this mean? Liu Pei’s brother Kuan who was behind him was especially angry. The sleeping caterpillar eyebrows stood up fiercely and the red phoenix eyes glared as, sword in hand, he rode hastily forth to cut down the audacious Minister for his impertinence. However, his elder brother hastily waved him back and shot at him a meaning glance so that he stopped and made no further move.
Yüan-tê bowing toward Ts‘ao said, “Most sincere felicitations! A truly supernatural shot, such as few have achieved!”
“It is only the enormous good fortune of the Son of Heaven!” said Ts‘ao with a smile.
Then he turned his steed and felicitated the Emperor. But he did not return the bow; he hung it over his own shoulder instead.
The hunt finished with banqueting and when the entertainments were over they returned to the capital, all glad of some repose after the expedition. Kuan Yü was still full of the Minister’s breach of decorum.
One day he said, “Brother, why did you prevent me from killing that rebel and so ridding the world of a scoundrel? He insults the Emperor and ignores everybody else.”
“When you throw stones at a rat, beware of the vase,” quoted Yüan-tê. “Ts‘ao Ts‘ao was only a horse’s head away from Our Lord and in the midst of a crowd of his partizans. In that momentary burst of anger, if you had struck and failed, and harm had come to the Emperor, what an awful crime would have been laid to us!”
“If we do not rid the world of him to-day, a worse evil will come of it,” said Kuan.
“But be discreet, my brother. Such matters cannot be lightly discussed.”
The Emperor sadly returned to his palace. With tears in his eyes he related what had occurred in the hunt to his consort the Empress Fu.
“Alas for me!” said he. “From the first days of my accession one vicious minister has succeeded another. I was the victim of Tung Cho’s evil machinations; then followed the rebellion of Li Ts‘ui and Kuo Ssü. You and I had to bear sorrows such as no others have borne. Then came this Ts‘ao Ts‘ao as one who would maintain the imperial dignity, but he has seized upon all real authority and does as he wishes. He works continually for his own glorification and I never see him but my back pricks. These last few days in the hunting field he went in front of me and acknowledged the cheers of the crowd. He is so extremely rude that I feel sure he has sinister designs against me. Alas, my wife, we know not when our end may come!”
“In a whole Court full of nobles who have eaten the bread of Han, is there not one who will save his country?” said she.
Thus spake the Empress, and at the same moment there stepped in a man who said, “Grieve not, O Imperial Pair! I can find a saviour for the country.”
And who was this? It was none other than the father of the Empress, Fu Wan.
“Have you heard of Ts‘ao Ts‘ao’s wanton and perverse behaviour?” said the Emperor, drying his eyes.
“You mean the deer shooting? Who did not see that indeed? But the whole Court is full of his clan or his creatures. With the exception of the relatives of your Consort there is not one loyal enough to deal with a rebel. I have no authority and can do nothing, but there is General Tung Ch‘êng, the State Uncle, who could do it.”
“Could Uncle Tung come in to consult about this? I know he has had much experience of State troubles.”
Wan replied, “Every one of your attendants is a partizan of Ts‘ao’s and this sort of thing must be kept most profoundly secret or the consequence will be most serious.”
“Then what can be done?” said the Emperor.
“The only plan I can think of is to send gifts of a robe and a jade girdle to Tung, and in the lining of the girdle hide a secret edict authorising him to take certain steps. When he gets home and has read the edict he can elaborate plans as quickly as possible and neither the spirits above nor the demons below will know anything about them.”
The Emperor approved and Fu Wan went out. The Emperor then with his own hand drew up a decree, writing it with blood drawn by biting his finger. He gave the document to his consort to sew into the purple lining of the girdle. When all was done he put on the robe and girded it with the girdle. Next he bade one of the attendants summon Uncle Tung to the palace.
Tung Ch‘êng came and after the ceremonies were finished the Emperor said, “A few nights ago I was talking with the Empress of the terrible days of the rebellion and we thought of your good services then, therefore we have called you in to reward you.”
The minister bowed his head in thanks. Then the Emperor led Tung out of the Reception Hall to the T‘ai Miao or Temple of Ancestors, and they went to the gallery of Worthy Ministers, where the Emperor burned incense and performed the usual ceremonies. After this they went to see the portraits and among them was one of the Founder of the Dynasty, Han Kao-Tsu.
“Whence sprang our great ancestor and how did he begin his great achievement?” said the Emperor.
“Your Majesty is pleased to joke with thy servant,” said Tung Ch‘êng, rather startled at the question. “Who does not know the deeds of the Sacred Ancestor? He began life as a minor official in Ssŭshang. There gripping his sword he slew the White Serpent, the beginning of his struggle for the right. Speedily he mastered the Empire; in three years had destroyed Ts‘in and, in five, also Ch‘u. Thus he set up a Dynasty that shall endure for ever.”
“Such heroic forefathers! such weakling descendants! How sad it is!” said the Emperor.
Pointing to the portraits right and left he continued, “Are not these two Chang Liang, Marquis Liu, and Hsiao Ho, Marquis Ts‘uan?”
“Certainly. Your great ancestor was greatly assisted by these two.”
The Emperor glanced right and left. His attendants were rather far away. Then he whispered to Tung Ch‘êng, “You, like these two, must stand by me.”
“My poor services are of no worth; I do not compare with those men,” said the Uncle.
“I remember that you saved me at the western capital. I have never forgotten and I could never reward you.” Then pointing to his own robe the Emperor continued, “You must wear this robe of mine, girded with my own girdle, and it will be as though you are always near your Emperor.”
Tung Ch‘êng bowed his gratitude while the Emperor, taking off the robe, presented it to his faithful Minister. At the same time he whispered, “Examine it closely when you get home, and help your Emperor carry out his intention.”
Tung Ch‘êng understood. He put on the robe and the girdle, took leave and left the chamber.
The news of the audience for Tung Ch‘êng had been taken to the Minister, who at once went to the Palace and arrived as Tung Ch‘êng was passing out at the gate. They met face to face and Tung Ch‘êng could in nowise avoid him. He went to the side of the road and made his obeisance.
“Where are you from, State Uncle?” asked Ts‘ao Ts‘ao.
“His Majesty summoned me into the Palace and has given me this robe and beautiful girdle.”
“Why did he give you these?”
“He had not forgotten that I saved his life in the old days.”
“Take it off and let me see it.”
Tung Ch‘êng who knew that a secret decree was hidden away somewhere in the garments was afraid Tsʻao Ts‘ao would notice a breach somewhere in the material, so he hesitated and did not obey. But the tyrant called his servants. So he took off the girdle. Then Ts‘ao looked it over carefully. “It certainly is a very handsome girdle,” said he. “Now take off the robe and let me look at that.”
Tung Ch‘êng’s heart was melting with fear but he dared not disobey. So he handed over the robe. Ts‘ao took it and held it up against the sun with his own hand and minutely examined every part of it. When he had done this he put it on, girded it with the girdle and turning to his suite said, “How is it for length?”
“Beautiful!” they chorussed.
Turning to Tung Ch‘êng he said, “Will you give these to me?”
“My King’s presents to me I dare not give to another. Let me give you another robe in its stead,” said Tung.
“Is there not some intrigue connected with these presents? I am sure there is,” said Ts‘ao.
“How could I dare?” said Tung, trembling. “If you are so set upon it then I must give it up.”
“How could I take away what your King has given you? It was all a joke,” said the Minister.
He returned both robe and girdle and their owner made the best of his way home. When night came and he was alone in his library, he took out the robe and looked over every inch of it most carefully. He found nothing.
“He gave me a robe and a girdle and bade me look at them carefully. That means there is something to be looked for but I can find no trace of it. What does it mean?” he soliloquised.
Then he lifted the girdle and examined that. The jade plates were carved into the semblance of small dragons interlaced among flowers. The lining was of purple silk. All was sewn together most carefully and neatly and he could find nothing out of the common. He was puzzled. He laid the belt on the table. Presently he picked it up and looked at it again. He spent long hours over it but in vain. He leaned over on the small table, his head resting on his hands and was almost asleep, when a candle snuff fell down upon the girdle and burned a hole in the lining. He hastily shook it off, but the mischief was done: a small hole had been burned in the silken lining, and through this there appeared something white with blood red marks. He hastily ripped it open and drew out the decree written by the hand of the Emperor himself in characters of blood.
It read, “Of human relationships, that between father and son stands first; of the various social ties that between Prince and Minister stands highest. To-day Ts‘ao Ts‘ao, the wicked, is a real tyrant, treating even his Prince with indignity. With the support of his faction and his army he has destroyed the principles of government. By conferring rewards and inflicting punishments he has reduced the Emperor to a nonentity. I have grieved over this day and night. I have feared the Empire would be ruined.
“You are a high Minister of State and my own relative. You must recall the difficulties of the great Founder’s early days and draw together the loyal and right-minded to destroy this evil faction and restore the prerogatives of the Throne. Such a deed would be indeed an extreme joy to the spirits of my ancestors.
“This decree, written in blood drawn from my own veins, is confided to a noble who is to be most careful not to fail in executing his Emperor’s design.
“Given in the era Established Tranquillity, fourth year and the third month of Spring.”
So ran the decree and Tung Ch‘êng read it with streaming eyes. There was no sleep for him that night. Early in the morning he returned to his library and re-read it. No plan suggested itself. He laid the decree down on the table and sought in the depths of his mind for some scheme to destroy Ts‘ao Ts‘ao, but could not decide upon any. And he fell asleep leaning over his table.
It happened that a certain official, Wang Tzŭ-fu, with whom he was on terms of great intimacy, came to visit him and, as usual, walked into the house unannounced and went straight to the library. His host did not wake and Wang noticed, hardly hidden by his sleeve, the Emperor’s writing. Wondering what this might be he drew it out, read it and put it in his own sleeve. Then he called out loud, “Uncle Ch‘êng, are you not well? Why are you asleep at this time of day?”
Tung Ch‘êng started up and at once missed the decree. He was aghast; he almost fell to the ground.
“So you want to make away with Ts‘ao Ts‘ao? I shall have to tell him,” said Wang.
“Then, brother, that is the end of the Hans,” said his host, with tears.
“I was joking,” said Wang. “My forefathers also served the Hans and ate of their bounty. Am I devoid of loyalty? I would help you, brother, as far as lies in my power.”
“It is well for the country that you think like this,” said Tung.
“But we ought to have a more private place than this to talk over such plans and pledge ourselves to sacrifice all in the cause of Han.”
Tung Ch‘êng began to feel very satisfied. He produced a roll of white silk and wrote his own name at the top and signed it, and Wang followed suit. Then the visitor said, “General Wu Tzŭ-lan is one of my best friends, he ought to be allowed to come in.”
Ch‘êng replied, “Of all the officials of the Court Ch‘ung Chi and Wu Shih are my best friends. Certainly they would back me up.”
So the discussion proceeded. Presently a servant announced no other than these very two men.
“This is providential,” said Tung Ch‘êng and he told his friend to hide behind a screen.
The two guests were led into the library and after the exchange of the ordinary civilities and a cup of tea, Chʻung Chi referred to the incident at the hunt and the shooting of the stag. “Were you not angry at that?” said he.
Tung Ch‘êng answered, “Though we be angry, what can we do?”
Wu Shih struck in, “I would slay this fellow, I swear, but I cannot get any one to back me up.”
“Though one should perish for one’s country one should not mind,” said Ch‘ung Chi.
At this moment Wang Tzŭ-fu appeared from behind the screen, saying, “You two want to kill Ts‘ao! I shall have to let him know this. And Uncle Tung is my witness.”
“A loyal Minister does not mind death. If we are killed we will be Han ghosts, which is better than being sycophants of a traitor.”
Tung Ch‘êng said, “We were just saying we wanted to see you two on this matter. Wang is only joking.”
Then he drew forth the decree and showed it to the two new-comers, who also wept as they read it. They were asked to add their names.
Tzŭ-fu said, “Wait here a few moments till I get Wu Tzŭ-lan to come.”
He left the room and very soon returned with his friend, who also wrote his name in the presence of all the others.
After this they went into one of the inner chambers to drink success to the new plot. While there a new visitor, Ma T‘êng, Prefect of Hsiliang, was announced.
“Say I am indisposed,” said the host, “and cannot receive visitors.”
The doorkeeper took the message, whereat Ma angrily said, “Last night at the Tunghua Gate I saw him come out in robe and girdle. How can he pretend illness to-day? I am not come from mere idleness, why does he refuse to see me?”
The doorkeeper went in again and told his master what the visitor had said and that he was very angry. Then Ch‘êng rose, excused himself saying he would soon return, and went to receive Ma T‘êng. After the visitor had saluted and they were both seated, he said, “I have just come from a farewell audience and wished to bid you adieu. Why did you want to put me off?”
“My poor body was taken suddenly ill; that is why I was not waiting to welcome you,” said Ch‘êng.
“You do not look as if you were ill; your face wears the very bloom of health,” said Têng bluntly.
His host could say no more and was silent. The visitor shook out his sleeves and rose to depart. He sighed deeply as he walked down the steps, saying to himself, “Not one of them is any good: there is no one to save the country.”
This speech sank deeply into Tung Ch‘êng’s heart. He stopped his guest, saying, “Who is no good to save the country? Whom do you mean?”
“That incident at the hunt the other day, the shooting of the stag, filled my breast with anger. But if you, a near relative of the Emperor, can pass your time in wine and idle dalliance without a thought of doing away with rebellion, where can any one be found who will save the dynasty?”
However, Tung Ch‘êng’s doubts were not set at rest. Pretending great surprise he replied, “The Minister is of high rank and has the confidence of the Court: why then does he utter such things?”
“So you find that wretch Ts‘ao a good man, eh?”
“Pray speak lower: there are eyes and ears very near us.”
“The sort of people who covet life and fear death are not those to discuss any great undertaking.”
So saying he rose to go away. By this time his host’s doubts were set at rest: he felt that Ma T‘êng was loyal and patriotic. So he said, “Do not be angry any more. I will show you something.”
Whereupon he invited Ma T‘êng to go into the room where the others were seated and then showed him the decree. As Ma read it his hair stood on end, he ground his teeth and bit his lips till the blood came.
“When you move, remember the whole force of my army is ready to help,” said he.
Tung Ch‘êng introduced him to the other conspirators and then the pledge was produced and Ma T‘êng was told to sign his name. He did so, at the same time smearing the blood as a sign of the oath and saying, “I swear to die rather than betray this pledge.”
Pointing to the five he said, “We require ten for this business and we can accomplish our design.”
“We cannot get many true and loyal men. One of the wrong sort will spoil all,” said Tung Ch‘êng.
Ma T‘êng told them to bring in the list of officials. He read on till he came to the name Liu, of the Imperial clan, when clapping his hands he cried, “Why not consult him?”
“Whom?” cried they altogether.
Ma T‘êng very slowly and deliberately spoke his name.
To a very trusty servant comes an Emperor’s decree,
And a scion of the ruling house can prove his loyalty.
If the reader turns to the next chapter he will see who was Ma T‘êng’s hero.