The king of Ch’u said to his commander of the army, “This Yüeh, the butcher, holds a position of little esteem, yet he expounds most loftily upon the duty of a subject. Would you invite him on our behalf to become one of the three chief ministers?”
This was reported to Yüeh, who said, “I understand that such a position is far above a butcher’s trade, and that a salary of ten thousand is far beyond what a sheep butcher could earn. But how could I, because of greed for office and wealth, allow my sovereign to have a reputation for absurd generosity? I do not deserve the honor. I wish to return to my trade.”
Thus Yüeh declined the reward for good.
—Chung Tzu
The Prime Minister’s Coachman
Yen Tzu was the prime minister of Ch’i. One day when he went out, his coachman’s wife watched her husband from the gates. The coachman was sheltered by a large awning befitting his rank. He laid the whip to the team of four horses, his spirits jaunty, his mood self-satisfied. But when he returned home, his wife said that she wanted to leave him. The coachman asked her reasons. “Yen Tzu is hardly five feet tall,” she replied, “and he is the prime minister, renowned among the lords of the realm. I have noticed that when he goes for a drive, he seems serious and reflective and always has an air of humility. You are more than six feet tall, but you serve others as a coachman and seem very pleased with yourself. That’s why I want to leave you.” Thereafter the coachman made less of himself. Yen Tzu was struck by the change and asked the reason. The coachman told Yen Tzu, who promoted him.
—Ssu-ma Ch’ien
The Royal Jewel
King Hui of Chao called for his adviser Lin Hsiang-ju and said, “The king of Ch’in is offering to exchange fifteen towns for the royal jewel. Should we give it up?”
“Ch’in is strong, and we are weak,” replied Hsiang-ju. “We have no choice.”
“What if they take the jewel and don’t give us the towns?” King Hui asked.
Hsiang-ju said, “If Ch’in is offering its towns for the jewel and we refuse, we are in the wrong. If we present the jewel and they do not give the towns, they are in the wrong. Between these two possibilities, it seems better for us to have Ch’in in the wrong.”
“Whom can we send?” asked the king.
“If Your Majesty has no one else, I am willing to go as your representative to present the jewel. If the towns are handed over to us, the jewel will remain with Ch’in. If the towns are not handed over, I will undertake to have the jewel restored intact.”
And so King Hui of Chao sent Hsiang-ju west to deliver the jewel.
The king of Ch’in was seated upon his screened dais when he received Hsiang-ju. Hsiang-ju presented the jewel to the king, who was greatly pleased. He passed it around for his female escorts and his attendants to admire. And they all shouted, “Long live the king!”
Hsiang-ju concluded that the king of Ch’in had no intention of paying the fifteen towns for the jewel. So he stepped forward and said, “The jewel has a small flaw which I should like to point out to Your Majesty.”
The king handed the jewel to Hsiang-ju, who clutched it tightly, jumped back, and steadied himself against a pillar. He was so angry that his hair seemed to be pushing up against his cap!
“If Your Majesty wants this jewel,” Hsiang-ju cried, “you must send a letter to my king in Chao. He will confer with his advisers, who will all say that the state of Ch’in is so greedy that she is counting on her greater might to get our royal jewel! They will judge that your promises are empty and that you don’t intend to give us the towns in exchange. And they will decide not to part with the jewel! My own humble view is that even in the relations among ordinary people there can be no dishonesty. How much more faithful should great states be to this rule!”
Hsiang-ju continued, “For us to have thwarted the pleasure of the mighty state of Ch’in would have made no sense. And so my king, after spending five days in religious abstinence, sent me to deliver the royal jewel and humbly submit a letter to your court—out of reverence for your great state’s prestige and to show our respect. But when I arrived, I was received in a routine audience with little ceremony. And once you had the royal jewel, you passed it to the women around you in order to have a little amusement at my expense. I concluded that you had no intention of keeping your part of the bargain. That is why I have taken back the jewel. If Your Majesty tries to get it by force, I am going to smash my own head, together with the jewel, against this pillar.”
Hsiang-ju eyed the pillar as if he were about to carry out his threat. Fearing that the jewel would be destroyed, the king of Ch’in apologized. Then he called for an official to spread out a map, on which he indicated the fifteen sites he was assigning to Chao.
Hsiang-ju judged that the king of Ch’in was only pretending to cede the towns to Chao, so he said, “The royal jewel is a world-renowned treasure. The king of Chao had to offer it to you because he was afraid of you. Before my king sent the jewel, he purified himself for five days. Your Majesty should now do the same, and then should hold the full ceremonies for a state visitor. At that time I shall present the jewel.”
The king of Ch’in decided that he could not use force, so he agreed to the five days of ceremonial purification and housed Hsiang-ju in a splendid reception hall.
Hsiang-ju, however, still felt sure that the king of Ch’in would go back on his word. So he sent one of his men in plain dress back to Chao with the jewel. After the five days, the king of Ch’in opened the state ceremonies for Hsiang-ju. But Hsiang-ju said, “Not one of the last twenty kings of Ch’in has held to his commitments. I am truly fearful that I shall be deceived and thus fail my own state. For that reason I had one of my men take the jewel back to Chao, and I expect he has arrived by now.”
Hsiang-ju smiled persuasively and continued, “Ch’in is powerful and Chao is not. If Your Majesty would send a single envoy to our state, we will surrender the jewel at once. Now, if Ch’in with all its superiority will first relinquish the towns and confer them on Chao, how could we dare to retain the jewel and give offense to Your Majesty? Well I know that the crime of deceiving Your Majesty merits death, and I am willing to be thrown into the cauldron. All I ask is that Your Majesty consult with his advisers and consider my proposal fully.”
The king of Ch’in looked at his advisers and scowled. His attendants wanted to take Hsiang-ju to the dungeons, but the king said, “If we kill Hsiang-ju we will never get the jewel, and the friendship between Ch’in and Chao will be broken. It would be better to treat him generously on this occasion and let him go home. I don’t think the king of Chao is going to cheat us over one jewel.”
The king received Hsiang-ju formally and, after a full ceremony, sent him home to Chao.
—Ssu-ma Ch’ien
Country of Thieves
Yen Tzu the diplomat was preparing to go on a mission to the state of Ch’u. The king of Ch’u learned of it and said to his advisers, “Yen Tzu is the state of Ch’i’s shrewdest talker. When he comes, I would like to embarrass him. How can I do it?” “After he arrives,” they said, “we suggest that a man in fetters be brought past Your Majesty. Let Your Majesty ask, ‘What has the man done?’ And we will reply, ‘He’s a man from Ch’i.’ Then ask what his crime was, and we will say he has been convicted of theft.”
When Yen Tzu arrived, the king of Ch’u toasted him until they were growing mellow with the wine. Then two officers came toward the king with a bound man. “What has he done?” asked the king. “He’s from Ch’i,” they replied, “convicted of theft.” The king looked at Yen Tzu and said, “Are the people of Ch’i really expert thieves?” Yen Tzu came off his mat and knelt before the king. “They say the orange tree produces a dry, sour orange when it grows in the south, a sweet, juicy one when it grows in the north. The leaves are similar, the taste of the fruit altogether different. Why so? Because the soil and water are not the same. Now, the people who are born in our northern state of Ch’i do not steal. When they go s
outh to Ch’u they do. This can only be because the soil and water of Ch’u make them good at stealing.”
—Ssu-ma Ch’ien
Strategy
When the army of Ch’i moved against our state of Lu, our patriarch was determined to meet them in battle. Ts’ao Kuei sought an audience with him, though Ts’ao’s companions disapproved. “His counselors are working on a strategy,” they said. “Why interfere?” “The counselors lack the vision for long-range planning,” said Ts’ao Kuei. So he went to see the patriarch.
“What will you fight with?” he asked the patriarch, who replied, “With my loyal followers, who support me because I share the kingdom’s wealth with them instead of keeping it for myself.”
“Material dividends will not inspire the people to follow you,” answered Ts’ao Kuei. The patriarch said, “And I have always given the gods their due, insisting on full measure in the goods that are sacrificed to them.”
“Ritual will not win the favor of the gods,” answered Ts’ao Kuei. The patriarch said, “I am compassionate and show mercy to all criminals, even though I cannot study every case.”
“There is a quality that will win the loyalty of your people,” answered Ts’ao Kuei. “You can win a battle with that. Please let me be your adviser at the front.”
The patriarch allowed Ts’ao Kuei to share his chariot. The battle lines formed at Ch’angshuo, and the patriarch was ready to signal the advance with a drum roll. “Not yet,” said Ts’ao Kuei. The enemy sounded their drums three times. “All right, sound our drums,” said Ts’ao Kuei. Ch’i’s army was routed.
Next the patriarch was ready to order a pursuit. “Not yet,” said Ts’ao Kuei, and he got down to examine the chariot tracks of the routed army. Then he stood up on the chariot’s high bar to survey the retreating enemy in the distance. “All right, pursue,” he said. And they drove off the army of Ch’i.
After the victory, the patriarch asked Ts’ao Kuei for his reasoning. “In warfare,” replied Ts’ao Kuei, “morale is the main thing. The first drum roll rouses the spirit of valor; at the second roll it wanes; and by the third roll it is gone. When their valor was spent, ours was at the full. That’s the reason we defeated them. Now, a great power is hard to outwit. I had to be wary of an ambush, so I examined their chariot tracks and observed the disarray of their banners. When it was clear that they were truly retreating, it was time to pursue them.”
—Tso Ch’iu-ming
Buying Loyalty
Feng Hsüan was a man of rank in the land of Ch’i, but he had fallen on such hard times that he was almost starving. In desperation he sent his attendant to Lord Meng-ch’ang, whose service Feng was seeking to enter.
“What interests your master?” asked Lord Meng-ch’ang.
“Nothing,” came the reply.
“Well, what kind of work can he do?”
“None.”
Amused by these replies, the easygoing nobleman agreed to accept Feng Hsüan into his household. But the lord’s lieutenants assumed that their master had no respect for the newcomer and provided him with the coarsest food. After some time of this treatment, Feng Hsüan began slouching against a column of the palace and tapping it with his sword as he sang:
O faithful sword, must we return?
There is no fish for me to eat.
The lieutenants reported this to Lord Meng-ch’ang, who said, “Serve him the same food that you give all the members of my household.”
The lord’s followers did so, but after another period of time Feng Hsüan again tapped his sword as he sang:
O faithful sword, must we return?
There is no coach for me to ride.
The lieutenants made fun of Feng Hsüan and reported his complaint to their lord, who replied, “Prepare a horse and carriage for him as if he were a ranking member of the household.”
From then on, Feng Hsüan would mount his coach, raise his sword, and ride past his companions, saying, “Now the lord treats me properly.”
But after more time had passed, Feng Hsüan went back to tapping his sword as he sang:
O faithful sword, must we return?
I lack for means to keep my house.
Now the lieutenants viewed him with ill will as a greedy man for whom enough was not enough. But Lord Meng-ch’ang asked, “You have parents, Master Feng?”
“An elderly mother,” came the reply.
And the lord sent a deputy to see to the woman’s living so that she would not be in want. And Feng Hsüan never sang his song again.
It happened that Lord Meng-ch’ang took out his accounts one day and asked who in the household was skilled at bookkeeping and could collect his debts in the township of Hsüeh. Feng Hsüan wrote, “Can do” and signed his name. Lord Meng-ch’ang was puzzled, for he did not recall the man. But his lieutenants said, “It’s that same fellow who used to sing the ‘Faithful sword, must we return?’ song.” And the lord laughed and said, “Our visitor has some ability after all. I have been inattentive and failed to receive him formally.”
So Feng Hsüan was called to an audience with the lord, who apologized for the delay. “I have been overworked and distracted by my concerns,” he said. “Also, it is my nature to be somewhat slow and stolid. I have become so absorbed in affairs of state that I have given you offense, Master. Yet you seem to bear no grudge and, I understand, have even expressed willingness to go to Hsüeh and collect my debts.”
“Yes,” said Feng Hsüan and left to arrange for his transportation, put his things in order, and pack the debtors’ bonds in his coach. Taking formal leave of Lord Meng-ch’ang, he asked, “When I have finished, what should I buy for you with the money?”
“See what my household has least of,” replied the lord.
Feng Hsüan drove hard toward Hsüeh. When he arrived, he instructed his officers to summon all the debtors of the township to appear with their loan certificates. After each had presented his, Feng Hsüan forged Lord Meng-ch’ang’s name to an order forgiving all the debts of the people, and on this authority he burned the certificates.
“Long live our lord!” the people cheered.
Feng Hsüan rode back nonstop and reached the palace in the early morning. At once he requested an audience. Marveling at his speed, Lord Meng-ch’ang put on the formal cap of office and received Feng, asking, “Are the debts collected? How did you get back so soon?”
“Collected,” replied Feng Hsüan.
“And what have you acquired for me?”
“You said, ‘See what my household has least of.’ So I took the liberty of inspecting everything. I found that your palace is heaped with elegant treasure; your stables and kennels are well stocked; beautiful women fill the lower quarters. I judged that what your household most lacked was loyalty, and I presumed to buy some for you.”
“ ‘Buying loyalty’ means what?” asked the lord.
“My lord,” Feng Hsüan replied, “you own the paltry township of Hsüeh. But far from treating the people with a father’s affection, you have exploited it like a merchant. So I took the liberty of signing your name to an order forgiving the people their debts, and on that authority I burned the certificates. The people cheered. And that is how I bought their loyalty for you.”
Glumly, Lord Meng-ch’ang told him, “You have said enough.”
One year later a new king of Ch’i informed Lord Meng-ch’ang that his position could no longer be guaranteed. “I shall not be keeping my father’s ministers as my own,” said the king.
Lord Meng-ch’ang had to go back to his township of Hsüeh. He was still some twenty miles away when the people welcomed him on the road, steadying the elders and leading the children up to do him honor. Then Meng-ch’ang called Feng Hsüan to him and said, “Now I understand how you have bought loyalty for me.”
—Chan Kuo Ts’e
The Groom’s Crimes
Lord Ching, the marquis of Ch’i, assigned a groom to care for his favorite horse. But the horse died suddenly, and the lor
d was furious. He ordered his men to cut off the groom’s limbs.
It happened that Yen Tzu was attending the lord, and when the lord’s men entered, their swords at the ready, Yen Tzu stopped them. He said to Lord Ching, “In the time of the sage-kings Yao and Shun, who ruled by example only, if anyone was to be dismembered, whose limbs would they begin with?”
“With the king’s own limbs,” said Lord Ching. And he canceled the punishment. Instead he gave orders to have the groom condemned to death by due process.
“In that case,” said Yen Tzu, “the man will die ignorant of his crimes. Shall I spell them out for him, my lord, so that he may know them before he is executed?”
“Very well,” said Lord Ching.
Yen Tzu told the groom, “You have committed three crimes. You were assigned to care for the horse, and you let it die instead. That’s one crime you deserve death for. Second, the horse was his lordship’s favorite. That’s the second reason you deserve to die. And third, you earned your fate by causing his lordship to put a man to death for the sake of a mere horse. For when the people learn of it, they will resent our lord. And when the other feudal lords learn of it, they will despise our state. So by killing his lordship’s horse, you create ill feeling among the people and weaken our state in the eyes of its neighbors. Now you stand condemned to death!”
Chinese Fairy Tales and Fantasies (Pantheon Fairy Tale and Folklore Library) Page 17