CHAPTER VIII.
Governor Wang Prepares the “Chain” Scheme:
Tung Cho’s Rages at the Fengi Pavilion.
This is what Kʻuai Liang said, “Sun Chien is now gone and his sons are but youths. Seize this moment of weakness to break into Chiangtung and it is yours in one beat of the drum. If you return the corpse and make peace, you give them time to grow powerful and evil will ensue to this district.”
“How can I leave Huang Tsu in their hands?” said the Prefect.
“Why not sacrifice this blundering warrior for a district?”
“But he is my dear friend and to abandon him is wrong.”
So Huan K‘ai was allowed to return to his own side with the understanding that Sun Chien’s dead body should be given in exchange. Sun Ts‘ê freed his prisoner, brought away his father’s coffin and the fighting ceased. Sun Chien was interred in the border of Chüa and when the ceremonies were over Sun Ts‘ê led his army home again.
In his district Sun Ts‘ê set himself to the task of ruling well. He invited to his side men of wisdom and valour and so bore himself that all the best and bravest of the country gathered about him.
But this part of his story will not be told here. Tung Cho at the capital, when he heard of the death of the turbulent prefect, said, “An evil that pressed hard upon my heart has been removed.” He asked what sons he had left and when they told him the eldest was but seventeen he dismissed all anxiety from his thoughts.
From this time forward his arrogance and domineering spirit waxed worse and worse. He styled himself Shang Fu or “Imperial Rector,” a name full of honour, and in all his behaviour aped imperial state. He created his younger brother a marquis and made him Generalissimo of the Left. A nephew was placed in command of the Palace guards and everyone of his clan, young or old, was ennobled. At some distance from the capital he laid out a city, an exact replica of Ch‘angan, with its palaces, granaries, treasuries and magazines, and employed a quarter of a million people to build it. Here he accumulated supplies sufficient for twenty years. He selected eight hundred of the most beautiful maidens and sent them to dwell in his new city. The stores of wealth in every form were incalculable. All his family and retainers found quarters in this new city named Meiwu.
Tung Cho visited his city at intervals of a month or so and every visit was like an imperial progress, with booths by the roadside to refresh the officials and courtiers who attended him to the Hêngmên and saw him start.
On one occasion he spread a great feast for all those assembled to witness his departure and while it was in progress there arrived a large number of malcontents from the north who had voluntarily surrendered. The tyrant had them brought before him as he sat at table and meted out to them wanton cruelties. The hands of this one were lopped off, the feet of that; one had his eyes gouged out; another lost his tongue. Some were boiled to death. Shrieks of agony arose to the very heavens and the courtiers were faint with terror, but the author of the misery ate and drank, chatted and smiled as if nothing was going on.
Another day Tung Cho was presiding at a great gathering of officers who wereseated in two long rows. After the wine had gone up and down several times Lü Pu entered and whispered a few words in his master’s ear. Cho smiled and said, “He was always so. Take Chang Wên outside.” The others all turned pale. In a little time a serving man brought the head of their fellow guest on a red dish and showed it to their host. They nearly died with fright.
“Do not fear,” said Cho smiling. “He was in league with Yüan Shu to assassinate me. A letter he wrote fell by mistake into the hands of my son so I have had him put to death. You gentlemen, who have no reason, need have no fear.”
The officials hastened to disperse. One of them, Governor Wang Yün, who had witnessed all this, returned to his palace very pensive and much distressed. The same evening, a bright moonlight night, he took his staff and went strolling in his private garden. Standing near one of the creeper trellises he gazed up at the sky and the tears rolled down his cheeks. Suddenly he heard a rustle in the peony pavilion and some one sighing deeply. Stealthily creeping near he saw there one of the household singing girls named Tiaoch‘an or Sable Cicada.
This maiden had been brought up in his palace, where she had been taught to sing and dance. She was then just bursting into womanhood, a pretty and clever girl whom Wang Yün regarded more as a daughter than a dependant.
After listening for some time he suddenly called out, “What mischief are you up to there, you naughty girl?”
The maiden dropped on her knees in terror, “Would thy unworthy handmaid dare to do anything wrong?” said she.
“Then what are you sighing about out here inthe darkness?”
“May thy handmaid speak from the bottom of her heart?”
“Tell me the whole truth; do not conceal anything.”
And the girl said, “Thy handmaid has been the recipient of bountiful kindness. She has been taught to sing and dance and been treated so kindly that were she torn in pieces for her lord’s sake it would not repay a thousandth part. She has noticed lately that her lord’s brows have been knit in distress and knows it is on account of the State troubles. But she has not dared to ask. This evening he seemed more sad than ever and she was miserable on her lord’s account. But she did not know she would be seen. Could she be of any use she would not shrink from a myriad deaths.”
A suddenidea came to Wang and he stuck the ground with his staff. “Who would think that the fate of the Hans lay on your palm? Come with me!”
The girl followed him into the house. Then he summoned all the waiting women and girls, placed Sable Cicada on a chair and bowed before her. She was frightened and threw herself on the ground, asking in terror what it all meant.
Said he, “You can sympathise with the people of Han,” and the fount of his tears opened afresh.
“As I said just now, use me in any way; I will never shrink,” said the girl.
Wang Yün knelt saying, “The people are on the brink of destruction, the prince and his officers are in jeopardy, and you, you are the only saviour. That wretch Tung Cho wants to depose the Emperor and not a man among us can find means to stop him. Now he has a son, a bold warrior it is true, but both father and son have a weakness for beauty and I am going to use what I may call the “chain” plan. I shall first propose you in marriage to Lü Pu and then, after you are betrothed, I shall present you to Tung Cho and you will take every opportunity to force them asunder and turn away their countenances from each other, cause the son to kill his adopted father and so put an end to the great evil. Thus you may restore the altars of the land that it may live again. All this lies within your power; will you do it?”
“Thy handmaid has promised not to recoil from death itself. You may use my poor self in any way and I must do my best.”
“But if this gets abroad then we are all lost!”
“Fear not,” said she, “if thy handmaid does not show gratitude, may she perish beneath a myriad swords!”
“Thank you, thank you!” said Wang Yün.
Then they took from the family treasury many pearls and bade a cunning jeweler make therewith a fine golden headdress which was sent as a present to Lü Pu. He was delighted and came to thank the donor. When he arrived he was met at the gate by the host himself and within found a table full of dainties for his delectation. He was conducted into the private apartments and placed in the seat of honour.
He said, “I am but a simple officer in the palace of a minister; you are an exalted officer of State, why am I treated thus?”
“Because in the whole land there is no warrior your equal. Poor Yün bows not to an officer’s rank; he bows to his ability.”
This gratified Lü Pu mightily and his host continued to praise and flatter and ply him with wine and to talk of the virtues of the minister and his henchman.
Lü Pu laughed and drank huge goblets.
Presently most of the attendants were sent away, only a few kept to press the guest to drink. When the guest was very mellow Wang Yün suddenly said, “Let the child come in!”
Soon appeared two attendants, dressed in black, leading between them the exquisite and fascinating Sable Cicada.
“Who is this?” said Lü Pu startled into sobriety.
“This is my little girl, Cicada. You will not be annoyed at my familiarity, will you? But you have been so very friendly, I thought you would like to see her.”
He bade the girl present a goblet of wine and her eyes met those of the warrior.
The host feigning intoxication said, “The little one begs you, Commandant, to take a cup or two. We all depend upon you, all our house.”
Lü Pu begged the girl to sit down. She pretended to wish to retire. Her master pressed her to remain, saying that she might do so since the guest was a dear friend. So she took a seat modestly near her master.
Lü Pu kept his gaze fixed upon the maid while he swallowed cup after cup of wine.
“I should like to present her to you as a handmaid; would you accept?”
The guest started up. “If that is so you may rely upon my abject gratitude,” said he.
“We will choose a propitious day ere long and send her to the palace.”
Lü Pu was over-joyed. He could not keep his eyes off the girl and loving glances flashed from her liquid orbs.
However the time came for the guest to leave and Wang said, “I would ask you to remain the night but the Minister might suspect something.”
The guest thanked him again and again and departed. Some few days later when Wang Yün was at court and Lü Pu was absent he bowed low before Tung Cho and said, “I would that you would deign to come to dine at my lowly cottage, could your noble thought bend that way!”
“Should you invite me I would certainly hasten,” was the reply.
Wang Yün thanked him. He went home and prepared in the reception hall a feast in which figured every delicacy from land and sea. Beautiful embroideries surrounded the chief seat in the centre and elegant curtains were hung within and without. At noon next day, when the Minister arrived, his host met him at the gate in full court costume. He stood by while Tung Cho stepped out of his chariot and he and a host of armed guards crowded into the hall. Tung Cho took his seat at the top, his suite fell into two lines right and left, while the host stood humbly at the lower end. Tung Cho bade his people conduct Wang to a place beside himself.
Said Wang, “The great minister’s abundant virtue is as the high mountains; neither I Yin nor Duke Chou could attain thereto.”
Tung Cho smiled. They bore in the dishes and the wine and the music began. Wang Yün plied his guest with assiduous flattery and studied deference. When it grew late and the wine had done its work the guest was invited to the inner chamber. So he sent away his guards and went. Here the host raised a goblet and drank to his guest saying “From my youth up I have understood something of astrology and have been studying the aspect of the heavens. I read that the days of Han are numbered and that the great Minister’s merits command the regard of all the world as when Shun succeeded Yao and Yü continued the work of Shun, conforming to the mind of heaven and the desire of man.”
“How dare I expect this?” said Cho.
“From the days of old those who walk in the way have replaced those who deviate therefrom; those who lack virtue have fallen before those who possess it. Can one escape fate?”
“If indeed the decree of heaven devolve on me; you shall be held the first in merit,” said Tung Cho.
Wang Yün bowed. Then lights were brought in and all the attendants were dismissed save the serving maids to hand the wine. So the evening went on.
Presently the host said, “The music of these everyday musicians is too commonplace for your ear, but there happens to be in the house a little maid that might please you.”
“Excellent!” said the guest.
Then a curtain was lowered. The shrill tones of reed instruments rang through the room and presently some attendants led forward Cicada, who then danced on the outside of the curtain.
A poem says:—
For a palace this maiden was born,
So timid, so graceful, so slender,
Like a tiny bird flitting at morn
O’er the dew-laden lily-buds tender.
Were this exquisite maid only mine,
For never a mansion I’d pine.
Another poem runs thus:
The music calls; the dancer comes, a swallow gliding in,
A dainty little damsel, light as air;
Her beauty captivates the guest yet saddens him within,
For he must soon depart and leave her there.
She smiles; no gold could buy that smile, no other smileth so,
No need to deck her form with jewels rare,
But when the dance is over and coy glances come and go,
Then who shall be the chosen of the fair?
The dance ended, Tung Cho bade them lead the maiden in, and she came, bowing low as she approached him. He was much taken with her beauty and modest grace.
“Who is she?” said he.
“A singing girl; we call her Sable Cicada.”
“Then can she sing?”
The master bade her sing and she did so to the accompaniment of castanets. There is a measure describing her youthful beauty:—
You stand, a dainty maiden,
Your cherry lips so bright,
Your teeth so pearly white,
Your fragrant breath love-laden;
Yet is your tongue a sword;
Cold death is the reward
Of loving thee, O maiden.
Tung Cho was delighted and praised her warmly. She was told to present a goblet of wine to the guest which he took from her hands and then asked her age.
She replied, “Thy unworthy handmaid is just sixteen.”
“A perfect little fairy!” said Tung Cho.
Then Wang Yün rose and said, “If the Minister would not mind I should like to offer him this little maid.”
“How could I be grateful enough for such a kindness?”
“She would be most fortunate if she could be your servant,” said Wang.
Cho thanked his host warmly.
Then the orders were given to prepare a closed carriage and convey Sable Cicada to the palace.
Soon after Tung Cho took his leave and Wang Yün accompanied him the whole way.
After he had taken leave he mounted to ride homeward. Half way he met two lines of men with red lamps who were escorting Lü Pu on horseback and armed with his halberd. Seeing Wang Yün he at once reined in, stopped, seized him by the sleeve and said angrily, “You promised Cicada to me and now you have given her to the Minister: what foolery is this?”
Wang Yün checked him. “This is no place to talk; I pray you come to my house.”
So they went together and he led Lü Pu into a private room. After the usual exchange of polite greetings Wang said, “Why do you find fault with me, Commander?”
“Somebody told me that you had sent Cicada to the Minister’s palace in a covered carriage: what does it mean?”
“Of course you do not understand. Yesterday when I was at court the Minister told me he had something to talk to me about in my own house. So naturally I prepared for his coming and while we were at dinner he said, “I have heard something of a girl named Sable Cicada whom you have promised to my son Fêng-hsien. I thought it was mere rumour so I wanted to ask if it was true. Beside I should like to see her.” I could not say no, so she came in and made her bow to the lord of lords. Then he said that it was a lucky day and he would take her away with him and betroth her to you. Just think, Sir; when the Minister had come himself, could I stop him?”
“You were not so very wrong,” said Pu, “but for a time I had misunderstood you. I owe you an apology.”
“The girl has a small trousseau, which I will send as soon as she has gone over to your dwelling.”
Pu thanked him and went away. Next day he went into the palace to find out the truth, but could hear nothing. Then he made his way into the private quarters and questioned the maids. Presently one told him that the Minister had brought home a new bedfellow the night before and was not up yet. Pu was very angry. Next he crept round behind his master’s sleeping apartment.
By this time Cicada had risen and was dressing her hair at the window. Looking out she saw a long shadow fall across the little lake. She recognised the headdress and peeping around she saw it was indeed no other than Lü Pu. Thereupon she contracted her eyebrows, simulating the deepest grief, and with her dainty handkerchief she wiped her eyes again and again. Lü Pu stood watching her a long time.
Soon after he went in to give morning greeting. His master was sitting in the reception room. Seeing his henchman he asked if there was anything new.
“Nothing,” was the reply and he waited while Tung Cho took his morning meal. As he stood beside his master he glanced over at the curtain and saw a woman there behind the screen showing a half face from time to time and throwing amorous glances at him. He felt it was his beloved and his thoughts flew to her. Presently Cho noticed his expression and began to feel suspicious.
“If there is nothing you may go,” said he.
Lü Pu sulkily withdrew.
Tung Cho now thought of nothing but his new mistress and for more than a month neglected all affairs, devoting himself entirely to pleasure. He was a little indisposed and Cicada was constantly at his side, never even undressing to show her solicitude. She gratified his every whim. Cho grew more and more fond of her.
One day Lü Pu went to enquire after his father’s health. Tung Cho was asleep and Cicada was sitting at the head of his couch. Leaning forward she gazed at the visitor, with one hand pointed to her heart, the other at Tung Cho asleep, and her tears fell. Lü Pu felt heartbroken. Cho drowsily opened his eyes, and seeing his son’s gaze fixed on something behind him, turned over and saw who it was. He angrily rebuked Pu saying, “Dare you make love to my beauty?” He told the servants to turn him out and not allow him to come in again.
Lü Pu went off home very wrath. Meeting Li Ju he told him the cause of his anger. The adviser hastened to see his master and said, “Sir, you aspire to be ruler of the State, why then for a small fault do you blame the Marquis? If he turn against you, it is all over.”
“Then what can I do?” said Cho.
“Recall him to-morrow; treat him well; overwhelm him with gifts and fair words and all will be well.”
So Tung Cho did so. He sent for Lü Pu and was very gracious and said, “I was irritable and hasty yesterday owing to my illness and I wronged you, I know. Forget it.”
He gave him ten catties of gold and twenty rolls of brocade. And so the quarrel was made up. But though Lü’s body was with Tung his heart was with his promised bride.
Tung Cho having quite recovered went to court again and Lü Pu followed him as usual. Seeing Tung Cho deep in conversation with the Emperor, Lü Pu, armed as he was, went out of the palace and rode off to his chief's residence. He tied up his steed at the entrance and, halberd in hand, went to the private apartments to seek his love. He found her and she told him to go out into the garden where she would join him soon. He went, taking his halberd with him, and he leaned against the rail of the Phoenix Pavilion to wait for Cicada.
After a long time she appeared, swaying gracefully as she made her way under the drooping willows and parting the flowers as she passed. She was exquisite, a perfect little fairy from the Palace of the Moon. Tears were in her eyes as she came up and said, “Though I am not the Governor’s real daughter yet he treated me as his own child. The desire of my life was fulfilled when he plighted me to you. But Oh! to think of the wickedness of the Minister, stealing my poor self as he did. I suffered so much. I longed to die, only that I had not told you the real truth. So I lived on, bearing my shame as best as I could but feeling it mean still to live. Now that I have seen you I can end it all. My poor sullied body is no longer fit to serve a hero. I can die before your eyes and so prove how true I am!”
Thus speaking she seized the curving rail as if to jump into the lily pond. Lü Pu caught her in his strong arms and wept as he held her close.
“I knew it; I always knew your heart,” he sobbed. “Only we never had a chance to speak.”
She threw her arms about Lü Pu. “If I cannot be your wife in this life I will in the ages to come,” she whispered.
“If I do not marry you in this life, I am no hero,” said he.
“Every day is a year long. O pity me! Rescue me!”
“I have only stolen away for a brief moment and I am afraid that old rebel will suspect something, so I must not stay too long,” said Pu.
The girl clung to his robe.
“If you fear the old thief so much I shall never see another sunrise.”
Lü Pu stopped. “Give me a little time to think,” said he. And he picked up his halberd to go.
“In the deep seclusion of the harem, I heard the stories of your prowess; you were the one man who excelled all others. Little did I think that you of all men would rest content under the dominion of another.”
And tears rained again!
A wave of shame flooded his face. Leaning his halberd against the railing he turned and clasped the girl to his breast, soothing her with fond words. The lovers held each other close swaying to and fro with emotion. How could they bring themselves to say farewell?
In the meantime Tung Cho missed his henchman and doubt filled his heart. Hastily taking leave of the Emperor, he mounted his chariot and returned to his palace. There at the gate stood Lü Pu’s well known steed, riderless. He questioned the doorkeepers and they told him the Marquis was within. He sent away his attendants and went alone to the private apartments. Lü Pu was not there. He called Cicada, but she did not reply. He asked where she was and the waiting maids told him she was in the garden among the flowers.
So he went into the garden and there he saw the lovers in the pavilion in most tender talk. Lü Pu’s halberd was leaning on the railing beside him.
A howl of rage escaped Tung Cho and startled the lovers. Lü Pu turned, saw who it was and ran away. Cho caught up the halberd and ran in pursuit. But Lü Pu was fleet of foot while his master was very stout. Seeing no hope of catching the runaway Cho hurled the halberd. Lü Pu fended it off and it fell to the ground. Cho picked it up and ran on. But by this time Lü Pu was far ahead. Just as Cho was running out at the garden gate he dashed full tilt against another man running in, and down he went.
Surged up his wrath within him as the billows heavenward leap,
Crashed his unwieldy body to earth in a shapeless heap.
We shall presently see who the other runner was.