Chinese Fairy Tales and Fantasies (Pantheon Fairy Tale and Folklore Library) (31 page)

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 south 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

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

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:

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:

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:

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

Lord Ching, the marquis of Ch’i, assigned a groom to care for his favorite horse. But the horse died suddenly, and the lord 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!”