The Three Kingdoms, Volume 3: Welcome the Tiger: The Epic Chinese Tale of Loyalty and War in a Dynamic New Translation (35 page)

Zhuge Liang Offers Sacrifices at the Lu River and Leads His Army Homeward

The Marquis of Wu Proposes an Attack on Wei in His Memorial

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Zhuge Liang was leading his army homeward, Meng Huo, at the head of the Mans chieftains and leaders of various tribes, came to see him off. They lined the roadside and bowed to him in obeisance. In the meantime, the vanguard led by Wei Yan had reached the Lu River. It was the ninth month of the year and the season was fall. They were trying to cross the river when a tremendous storm swept up, hindering the army from advancing. When he learned of this, Zhuge Liang asked Meng Huo if he knew of any reason for such a storm.

Meng Huo replied, “Wild spirits have always troubled this water and those who want to cross have to propitiate them with sacrifices.”

“What sacrifices should be offered?” asked Zhuge Liang.

“In the old days when malicious spirits brought misfortune, our tradition was to sacrifice men to the number of seven times seven—forty-nine in all—and offer their heads, besides slaying a black ox and a white goat. Only then would the wind subside, the waters come to rest, and bounteous harvests follow year after year.”

“The war is over and peace has returned,” said Zhuge Liang. “How can I slay a single innocent man?”

Then he went down to the river to see for himself. Truly enough, a ghostly wind was howling and the waves were surging. Both men and horses were frightened. Much perplexed, he sought out some natives to inquire. They told him that they had heard moanings and cries from dusk to dawn every night since his army had passed the river. There were numerous spirits in the fog and no man dared cross the river.

“It is my sin,” said Zhuge Liang. “Earlier more than a thousand of Ma Dai’s men perished in these waters, and later the bodies of the slain Mans soldiers were also thrown here. These poor grievous souls are not yet freed. Tonight I myself will go and propitiate them.”

“You have to abide by the old custom and offer forty-nine human heads—then the spirits will disperse,” said the natives.

Zhuge Liang objected: “The cause of this is the unfortunate deaths of innocent men. What is the sense in slaying more men? But I know what to do.”

He told the army cooks to slaughter an ox and a horse and to make balls of flour paste after the manner of human heads, stuffed with the meat of oxen and goats. These, called
man-tou,
or buns, would be used instead of human heads.

By nightfall, an altar had been set up on the bank of the river with the sacrificial objects all arranged. Forty-nine lamps were lit and banners were hoisted high to summon the souls. The forty-nine
man-tou
were piled up on the ground. At midnight Zhuge Liang, in a white robe and golden head-dress, went to offer the sacrifice in person, and he bade Dong Jue read this prayer:

On the first day of the ninth month of the third year of the period Jian-Xing of the Han
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Dynasty, I, Zhuge Liang, Prime Minister of Han, Marquis of Wuxiang, Governor of Yizhou, reverently order this sacrifice to appease the shadows of those men of Shu who have died in their country’s service and those of the southern men who have perished in this war.

Hear me out, ye shades.

The Emperor of the mighty Han Dynasty excels the five feudal lords in power and succeeds the three ancient kings in wisdom. Recently, when barbarians of the distant south, who loosed the venom of their sorcery and gave free rein to their wolfish hearts of rebellion, sent an army to invade his territory, I was commanded to punish their crimes. Therefore I led my mighty army to this wild land to destroy those mere ants of rebels. As my brave soldiers gathered in multitudes, the unruly rebels melted away. Like apes, they escaped on hearing the mere crack of a bamboo.

My men are warriors from the nine provinces and my officers, heroes of the empire. All of them have perfected their skills in the use of arms and joined my forces to serve under a wise king. They obeyed orders and carried out the plans for the seven captures of Meng Huo. They were true to their country and loyal to their lord.

But who could have foreseen that you, poor spirits, would fall victims to the enemy’s wicked wiles, due to mishaps in the strategy? Some of you went down to the deep springs wounded by flying arrows; others sank into the long night hurt by lethal weapons. Alive you were valorous; dead, you are remembered as heroes. Now we are returning home in victory and the prisoners are being handed over to our lord. Since your noble souls still exist, I presume you will hear my words. So follow the banners of my army, come after my men, and return with us to your country, each to his own village, where you may enjoy the savor of your own flesh and blood and receive the offerings of your own families. Do not become wandering ghosts in alien hamlets or restless shades on foreign soil. I will make a petition to His Majesty that your families enjoy his gracious bounty, with yearly allowances of grain and clothing and monthly payments of salaries for sustenance, so that you may rest in peace.

As for you, spirits of this place, shades of the deceased men of the south, you are not far from home and can enjoy the regular offerings of your people. Those who are alive are in awe of the heavenly majesty, and as dead ones you must also submit to the imperial rule. So hold your peace and refrain from uttering unseemly moanings. To show my sincerity of heart I reverently offer you sacrifices and implore you to accept them.

Alas, ye dead! To you this offering!

At the end of the prayer Zhuge Liang, overcome with emotion, broke into loud wailing, and the whole army was moved to tears. Meng Huo and his followers also moaned and wept. Then amid the sad clouds and angry mists they saw, vaguely, thousands of ghosts dispersing with the wind. Then the material portion of the sacrifice was thrown into the river.

The next day Zhuge Liang led his army to the south bank of the river, where he saw the clouds had lifted and the winds had hushed; and the crossing was made without further mishap. The men of Shu began their triumphant journey homeward. It was a magnificent sight, which was aptly expressed in the following two lines:

Stirrups jingle at the crack of whips,
Men return amid songs of victory.

At Yongchang, Lu Kai and another official were left behind to take command of the four districts, and Meng Huo and his men were permitted to return home. Zhuge Liang urged the Mans king to be diligent in his administration, maintain good control over his subordinates, care for his people, and never to neglect farming. Meng Huo wept as he bowed and took his leave.

When the army neared the capital, the Second Ruler rode out thirty
li
in his imperial carriage to welcome his victorious minister. The Emperor stood by the roadside as he waited for his arrival.

Zhuge Liang quickly descended from his chariot, prostrated himself, and said, “It is my fault to cause Your Majesty much anxiety for failing to conquer the south swiftly.”

His lord helped him to his feet and returned with him to Chengdu, their chariots riding side by side. Back in the capital, there was great rejoicing with banquets and rich rewards for the army. Henceforward distant lands, to the number of over two hundred, sent tribute to the Shu court. With the Emperor’s permission Zhuge Liang saw to it that the families of those who had lost their lives in the expedition were well taken care of. So all were appeased and the whole land enjoyed tranquillity.

Meanwhile, in the kingdom of Wei, Cao Pi had ruled for seven years. Cao Pi had first married a lady of the Zhen family, formerly wife of the second son of Yuan Shao. He had discovered her at the fall of Yecheng. She bore him a son, Rui, who had been an intelligent boy since early childhood and a great favorite with his father. Later, Cao Pi took as his
gui fei
(concubine) a daughter of the Guo family, a lady of exceeding beauty. Her father once said that she was “queen of all women,” and she styled herself with the title. With her arrival, Lady Zhen fell from her lord’s favor, but Lady Guo’s ambition soon led her to intrigue to replace Lady Zhen and set herself up as Empress. She took Zhang Tao, a minister at the court, into her confidence.

One day Cao Pi happened to feel indisposed, and Zhang Tao made up a story to the effect that he had dug up in the palace of Lady Zhen a wooden image on which was written the king’s date of birth, so as to harm him.
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In his anger, Cao Pi put his consort to death and set up Lady Guo in her place.

But she had no children of her own. Therefore she nourished Rui as if he were hers. However, loved as Rui was, he was not then named heir. When he was fifteen Rui, already an expert archer and a daring rider, accompanied his father on a hunting expedition. In a valley, they startled a doe and its fawn. Cao Pi shot the doe, and the fawn fled. Seeing that the fawn was running in front of his son’s horse, Cao Pi called out to him to shoot it. Instead the youth burst into tears.

“Your Majesty has slain the mother—how can I bear to kill the child as well?”

Hearing these words, Cao Pi threw down his bow and said, “My son, you would indeed make a benevolent and virtuous ruler.”

This incident helped Cao Pi make up his mind to confer on Rui the title of Prince of Pingyuan. In the fifth month Cao Pi fell ill with colds, and medical treatment was of no avail. So three chief generals were summoned to his bedside. They were Cao Zhen, Chen Qun, and Sima Yi. When they had come, the Emperor’s son, Cao Rui, was also called in, and the dying ruler said: “I am grievously ill, and my end is near. I confide to your good care and guidance this son of mine. You must support him and do not fail to live up to my trust in you.”

“Why does Your Majesty say such words?” they replied in alarm. “We will do our utmost to serve you for a thousand falls and a myriad years.”

Cao Pi said, “This year the city gates suddenly collapsed for no apparent reasons. That was an ill omen, and I knew then I was about to die.”

At that moment attendants came in to announce the arrival of Cao Xiu, another high-ranking general, who had come to ask after his lord’s health. When he was called into the chamber, Cao Pi said to him: “You and these three are the pillars and cornerstones of the state. If you will work together with one mind and uphold my son’s authority, I can close my eyes in peace.”

These were his last words. A flood of tears gushed forth, and he sank back on the couch, dead. He was forty years of age and had reigned for seven years.

The four ministers raised the wailing for the dead and forthwith busied themselves with setting up Cao Rui as Emperor of Wei. The late Emperor received the posthumous title of “Emperor Wen.” The late Empress, Lady Zhen, mother of the new Emperor, was given the title of “Empress Wen-Zhao.”

Honors were then distributed in celebration of the new reign. Sima Yi and six others were given the highest positions, while the rest of the civil and military officials were also promoted. A general amnesty was declared throughout the land.

At that time the two western districts of Yong and Liang lacked a commander to defend them. Sima Yi offered himself for the post in a memorial to the new Emperor and was appointed chief of the forces in these regions. Soon he left to take up his new office.

In due time news of all this reached Zhuge Liang, who became greatly perturbed. His anxiety was not about the death of Cao Pi and the succession of his son, but about Sima Yi, whom he knew was very crafty and whose new position as commander of the forces might pose a serious threat to Shu. He felt that he should attack Sima Yi before the latter was able to train his army.

Ma Su said, “You, sir, have just returned from an arduous and exhausting expedition, and should take time to recuperate your men and horses before launching another military campaign. However, I have a scheme to make Cao Rui bring about the destruction of Sima Yi. May I lay it before you?”

“What is your plan?” asked Zhuge Liang.

“Although Sima Yi is an important minister of Wei, he is not really trusted by the new king. We can send someone secretly to Luoyang and Yejun to disseminate rumors that Sima Yi is intending to rebel. In addition, we can fabricate a proclamation to the whole country in his name and post it up at various places so as to arouse Cao Rui’s suspicion of him, and he will surely put Sima Yi to death.”

Zhuge Liang adopted the plan.

Away in Yecheng, one day a notice suddenly appeared on the city gate. The wardens of the gate took it down and presented it before Cao Rui. This is what it said: